


The Sting

by rai_m



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Con Artists, Developing Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-18 07:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rai_m/pseuds/rai_m
Summary: Liv was leaning against the bathroom wall, a typically unimpressed expression on her face. A younger man was crouched on the ground next to her, an unfocused blur of fair hair and blue eyes. Rafael looked up at Liv. “You called for reinforcements?”A small smile quirked at the side of her mouth. “This is Sonny.”Sonny reached over and turned the shower off, briefly meeting his eyes with a mix of wariness and distaste.Rafael swept his soaking wet hair back off his forehead and settled back in the bath. “Glad to meet you kid, you’re a real horse’s ass.”When his partner is killed because of a scam gone wrong, aspiring con-man Sonny Carisi teams up with old pro Rafael Barba to get his revenge on the crime boss responsible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Barisi cinema bang and based on the Newman/Redford caper The Sting. Con artistry and the occasional light murder ahead.
> 
> Takes place in 1936 and will be as period accurate as the film was, which is to say not very. Sorry.

_**Joliet, Illinois** _

_**1936** _

Sonny checked his watch again. He’d been standing on the corner less than ten minutes, but he was wary of being seen loitering. He made an effort to look nonchalant and let his eyes wander to the line of people huddled outside the Salvation Army. One lady in an old patched coat had broken away and was digging in the trash, picking her way over men sleeping on strips of old newspaper that flapped in the cold breeze. Sonny shivered and tightened his grip on his briefcase.

A creak on the other side of the road caught his attention, and a man stepped out of the side door of a rundown old brown building. He strolled cheerfully down the sidewalk in his shiny shoes, seemingly unconcerned by the destitution surrounding him. It was the shoes that Sonny had noticed first. Unscuffed and clean, too fancy for this neighborhood. Along with the sharp suit and fine hat, the guy looked like a solid mark for a quick scam.

He approached the entrance to the alley. Sonny got ready.

“Hey!” A shout erupted from the alley, followed by the crash of garbage cans. “That guy’s got my wallet!”

Tommy burst round the corner, closely followed by a limping Ellis, still yelling.

“Hey! Stop that guy! He has my money!”

The mark stopped, took in the scene in front of him, and deliberately stepped aside to let Tommy run past.

“Dick,” Sonny muttered. He jogged across the road swinging the briefcase back as he went, throwing it into Tommy’s chest with a practiced lack of force. Tommy took the fall like a champ, rolling onto his side and picking himself up again.

“Fuck you,” he spat, pulling a knife from his pocket. “You come after me and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Sonny would really have to talk to him about his language. He took a step back with one foot and kicked the wallet away with the other, and watched Tommy run off down the street until he was sure no one had followed. He turned back to the alley where the mark was kneeling awkwardly next to Ellis.

“My wallet,” Ellis gasped, clutching at his leg. “Did he get it?”

“I’ve got your wallet,” the mark said, handing over the thick leather pouch.

Ellis grabbed it, throwing a suspicious look at the both of them before he opened it and thumbed deliberately through the bundle of notes contained within.

“Jeez,” Sonny whistled. “What were you thinking walking through a neighborhood like this with all that cash on you?”

“I had no choice!” Ellis cried, his eyes wild. “I got into some trouble, made a deal with some shady people, and now they want me to pay them back. I’ve already been late before. If I don’t get this to them by 4 pm, I swear they’ll kill me!”

Ellis struggled to push himself off the ground and Sonny stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Slow down gramps, looks like that guy got you pretty bad in the leg.” He turned Ellis’s leg towards him, running his fingers along the bloodstained gash in his pant leg. “You’re going nowhere but the hospital.”

Ellis groaned and dropped back on the ground. “I’ll be going to the morgue if I don’t deliver this money.” He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Wait,” he said, as though struck by sudden inspiration. “How would you and your friend like to make a hundred bucks?”

“What do you mean?” The mark piped up for the first time and Sonny felt a small thrill of satisfaction.

Ellis sat up on his hands and looked between the two men. “I’m not going anywhere, but you could. If you deliver this to 1811 Mason, box 3C for me, I’ll give you a hundred bucks to split between you.”

Sonny shook his head. “Hey, if this was on the level I’d be all for it, but I don’t need the cops or whoever you owe money to on my back.”

The mark snatched the wallet away with a snort. “I’ll do it.”

Sonny rolled his eyes. “Oh, right, now you’re happy to get involved, long as you’ll get paid for it. I could have taken a knife for free back there, where were you?”

“I was helping the man with his wallet, it’s not my fault you decided to play hero.”

Ellis ignored their bickering and pushed the wad of cash into the mark’s hands. “That’s what I owe, and there’s the extra hundred.” He smiled gratefully. “Thank you. You’re saving my life.”

The mark nodded sharply and pushed himself off the ground. He smirked at Sonny as he tucked the cash into his jacket pocket.

“Wait,” Sonny sighed. “Look, if you’re going to do this, you can’t walk around with it in your front pocket like that. Someone’ll hit you just like they hit him. C’mere.” He pulled out a handkerchief and gestured for the mark to hand over the money. “Put it in here. You got anything else? You better give it to me if you want to keep it.”

After a moment’s hesitation the mark handed over his own wallet and a fat envelope. Sonny wrapped it all up tightly in the handkerchief. “Okay, you keep it wrapped up like this, right? Then put it down here.” He stuffed the handkerchief down the front of his pants. “Ain’t a tough guy in the world who’s going to frisk you down there.”

The mark chuckled and took the package offered back to him, putting it down the front of his pants like Sonny had shown. “Thanks.”

“Remember, 1811 Mason, box 3C,” Ellis said weakly.

“Yeah, yeah. Mason. Sure.” The mark ran off, and Sonny and Ellis sat back and watched until he rounded the corner. As soon as he was out of sight, Ellis hopped off the ground and he and Sonny dashed into the street behind the alley, cackling with laughter.

“He didn’t even blink!”

“Ten bucks says he runs in the opposite direction!”

They leaned against the wall to catch their breath. Sonny reached down his front and pulled out the bundle of cash still wrapped in the handkerchief. He never could believe how easily people fell for it. They were always so desperate to make off with the extra cash they didn’t even notice Sonny swap the bundle with one already hidden in his pants. He chuckled at the thought of their mark opening his package and finding nothing but some counterfeit notes and ripped up newspaper.

He unwrapped the bundle to see how much they’d come away with and almost dropped it in shock. “Holy…” He whispered, showing Ellis an envelope practically bursting with hundred dollar notes. “I think you can bet more than ten bucks.”

Ellis lifted a note and held it up to the light. “Jesus, Sonny. Did you know he was that loaded?”

“I thought he’d maybe have enough for a good meal. There must be a couple of thousand dollars here!”

Ellis looked over his shoulder, back into the alley. “Who walks around with that much scratch in the middle of the afternoon?”

“Us, now,” Sonny said, gleefully counting the notes.

“Sonny, hold on.” Ellis rubbed the back of his head. “Something feels off about this.”

“What do you want me to do, chase him down and give it back?”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Ellis chastised. “I don’t like being this lucky.” He frowned suspiciously at the cash. “I think we should hold on to it for a while, keep a low profile.” He held up a hand to silence Sonny’s protest. “Just for a few days. Give me some time to check this guy out, make sure we haven’t stumbled into anything we shouldn’t have.”

“You know there’s such a thing as being too careful?” He grinned at Ellis’s long-suffering look. “Okay, okay. You’re right. Look, you take off home, make sure Tommy got there alright. I’ll drop by as soon as I can and we’ll share this out.”

Ellis nodded slowly, still uncertain, then headed off with an exaggerated limp just in case anyone was watching.

* * *

Tommy laughed out loud when he opened the door.

“You look ridiculous,” he said simply.

Sonny brushed at the lapel of his new suit, a bold russet pinstriped number with a maroon kipper tie that he knew looked better on him than on the mannequin in the store window he'd passed a few hours earlier. “You’re just jealous of my style,” he sniffed.

Ellis paused to look at him as he crossed from the kitchen. “You better have bought that with those savings I know damn well you don’t have.”

Sonny rolled his eyes and stepped into Ellis’s cramped apartment, pulling the door closed behind him. “Relax, it wasn’t that expensive.”

“I told you to hold on to the cash. Damn it, Sonny.” Ellis threw a couple of forks on the table with a clatter. “Can’t you just do what you’re told instead of trying to prove you know better all the time?”

Sonny shrugged, feeling a little like a petulant adolescent. To his mind, Ellis was being overly cautious, but Sonny knew better than to try arguing with him. He turned to Tommy instead. “Hey, did you see where our guy went?”

“Straight into a cab and in the complete opposite direction Ellis told him to go,” Tommy chuckled.

Sonny laughed. “I knew it. Serves him right.”

Ellis dropped a plate of chicken on the table and motioned to Sonny to sit down. “I asked around, nobody seems to know anything about him.”

“Good,” Sonny said around a mouthful of chicken. “Maybe he was just a rich asshole on the wrong side of town.”

“Maybe,” Ellis said. “I still think we shouldn’t go around flashing the cash until we know for sure.” He stared at Sonny. “You get me?”

“Yeah, I get you,” Sonny muttered defensively.

Tommy looked awkwardly between them. “So, Sonny. How about we share out that cash?”

“Right.” Sonny swallowed his food and wiped his hands clean on a paper napkin. He pulled his briefcase up on the chair next to him and took out two envelopes. Ellis took his with a frown.

“You didn’t spend all yours already, did you?”

“No! I told you, it wasn’t that-“

Ellis held up a hand. “It’s okay, I just wanted to make sure you had something. I want you to take a trip to New York.”

“New York?” Sonny asked, puzzled. He hadn’t been back to New York in years. “Did something happen? Did my dad-“

“No, Sonny,” Ellis interrupted him before he could get too worked up. “It’s nothing bad. I have a friend in Manhattan I’d like you to meet. Rafael Barba. I think it’d be good for you to pair up with him for a while. There’s a lot he can teach you.”

“What do you mean ‘pair up with him’? Why? What about us? I thought we worked well together.”

“Sonny.”

“If you want rid of me, fine, but—.”

“Sonny, calm down. I’m not getting rid of you, though God knows there have been times I’ve considered _various_ methods.” Sonny wasn’t pacified by the joke, folding his arms tightly across his chest. Ellis pushed his plate aside and leaned forward. “Look. You’ve got talent. You have more talent than I can use. Stay with me and you’ll be stuck pulling small-time tricks until the cops finally pick you up.”

“So teach me how to run the big cons,” Sonny said desperately. “Like the ones you told me about, the ones you played when you were younger.”

Ellis blew out a breath. “Sonny, I lied. I never pulled any big cons.” He chuckled darkly at Sonny’s confusion. “Come on kid. You think any rich white man is going to trust a black guy enough to let him take a few million out from under him?”

Sonny looked away. “I didn’t think…”

“Yeah, well.” Ellis examined his fingernails, a carefully blank look on his face. “I’ve been around a while, picked up some things. But Rafael, he’s the best at what he does. He runs the big con better than anyone I know and can he teach you everything I can’t. I really think you’ll work well together.”

Sonny pulled his arms tighter around himself, letting his fingers curl hard into his side. He knew it was an opportunity he should be grateful for, but he still felt like he was being given away, like a puppy that had gotten too big for the house. “What about you,” he asked. “Are you just going to stay here with Tommy?”

“I thought Tommy would go with you.”

“It’s nice to be wanted,” Tommy muttered into his chicken.

Ellis gave Tommy a less than patient look, then sighed. “I’m retiring.”

Sonny couldn’t help the burst of incredulous laughter. “You’re what?”

“Retiring. I’m getting too old for this racket, I want to get out before I embarrass myself too much.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, and for the first time that night Sonny noticed how tired he looked. “I’ve built up a good amount of savings, and with this job I finally have enough to call it quits.”

Sonny shook his head helplessly. “So what are you going to do all day? Sit and read the newspaper?”

“I have a brother down in Florida. He's found me some work. Honest work.”

Sonny scoffed. “Honest work. You’ll be bored.”

Ellis grinned, bright and self-aware. “Probably.” His smile dropped to thoughtful. “But it’s time.” Sonny shifted in his seat, knowing by his tone that any argument he tried to start would be dismissed before it was out of his mouth. Ellis fished around in his pocket. “Whatever you do is up to you, but either way, I’m out.” He passed a slip of paper to Sonny with a name and address roughly scrawled on it. “Just think about it.”

* * *

Sonny kicked at a bottle cap. It made a satisfying rattling noise in the silence of the street. Tommy shuffled quietly beside him, occasionally looking at him like he wanted to make conversation, but quickly giving up.

“Retirement,” Sonny muttered to himself. “Can you believe that?”

Tommy shrugged. “He is getting on a bit, Sonny.”

“He has years left in him.”

“Maybe he wants to take it easy. Maybe he doesn’t want to grift until he keels over in the middle of the street.” Tommy gave him a sidelong glance. “You could learn from him, y’know. Save a bit of money, buy a nice place. Give up the grifting.”

“I like the grifting.”

“Okay, great! So go to New York, work with this Barba guy.”

Sonny made a cynical noise.

“What?”

“Maybe I don’t appreciate being handed off to some stranger like an old dog. We’re supposed to be a team. What happened to partnership? What happened to loyalty?”

“Sonny, come on. He was just trying to make sure you’d be okay.”

Sonny stopped walking, a sigh coming from deep in his bones. “I know,” he said softly. “I just… I’ve moved around so much. I thought I’d finally found somewhere I could stick around for a while.”

Tommy put a hesitant hand on his back. “You never would have stayed in Illinois. You were always going to go back to New York.”

Sonny snorted in lieu of disagreeing. “You’re just saying that because you want to get back to my sister.”

“I hear absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Tommy said with a sly grin. “By now she should at least be fond enough to let me back in the house.”

Sonny rolled his eyes and gave him a playful shove, about to remind him that he could stay away for 100 years and Bella would still be mad, but a squeal of tires cut across his thoughts. They both turned in time to dodge the car mounting the curb and were running before the driver had opened the door. He was too quick though, and Sonny barely made it a few steps before he was yanked backward and thrown hard against a wall.

“Sergeant Cassidy,” he gasped breathlessly. “Good to see you again.”

“Shut your mouth, Carisi,” Cassidy growled, pushing him up against the wall and pointlessly checking him for weapons. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking for you all day.”

“You know me, Sergeant. I was helping out at the church.”

“Right, right,” Cassidy drawled. He held out a finger towards Tommy, who was starting towards them. “So I suppose you two would know nothing about a stolen wallet.”

“Nothing,” Sonny replied with perfect innocence. “I sure hope they catch the guy though.”

“Oh, I bet they will.” He looked at Sonny long enough to make him uncomfortable, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Oh, shit. You didn’t know, did you?”

Sonny tried to shift Cassidy’s arm off his chest. “Know what?” he grunted.

“You scored blood money today, Sonny.”

“What?”

Cassidy laughed, an unnerving sound at the best of times. “You two geniuses conned a numbers runner for Gregory Yates.”

Sonny’s stomach dropped. The name was as familiar to him as it was to any grifter in the state. “No… no, no one would be stupid enough steal from Yates.”

“Not on purpose, maybe.” Cassidy laughed again. “Not that Yates would care about that.”

Sonny was suddenly very aware that they were alone in a dark street and the only thing he knew about Cassidy’s loyalties was that they didn’t lie with him. “Why are you telling me this?”

Cassidy let him go, and Sonny sagged against the brickwork. “I’m just giving you a friendly heads up. You’ve got some people looking for you.” He looked far too pleased with himself for Sonny’s liking. “I hear you did pretty well for yourself today. If you don’t want it to get around where you are and who you’re with, maybe you’d like to share the wealth.”

Sonny glanced over at Tommy who was staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes, then turned back to Cassidy with a sardonic smile. “Of course, officer. Anything for The Law.” He pulled out his wallet and counted out notes until Cassidy looked satisfied. He caught Tommy’s eye again and Tommy shook his head, but Sonny didn’t care. Cassidy wouldn’t catch on that the notes were counterfeit until he went to spend it, by which time they’d be well out of his way.

“Attaboy.” Cassidy pocketed the cash and gave him a patronizing pat on the shoulder. “You might want to think about getting the hell out of dodge, kid.”

“I’ll consider that,” Sonny said brightly, smiling until Cassidy got into his car and sped away. “Shit.”

“Sonny,” Tommy whispered. “Gregory Yates?”

“It’s fine, we’re fine,” Sonny stammered. “We just need to go get…” he paused, a sickening feeling crawling up through his chest. “How did he know?”

“What?”

“Cassidy. How did he know it was Yates? How did he know it was us?”

Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know, who cares? Let’s just get out of here.”

Sonny felt panic wrap round his throat and squeeze. “Cassidy never hears anything first.” He was already running before he called back to Tommy. “We need to get to Ellis.”

* * *

Sonny skidded to a halt outside Ellis’s building. Tommy had fallen behind a few blocks back, shouting at him to slow down and be careful. It was far too crowded outside for that time of night. Heart hammering, Sonny walked past the throng of people gathered outside; tired children crying, women smoking with shaking hands. He passed the people gathered on the stairs, avoiding their stares, their hushed whispers muffled even further by the thudding rush in his ears. Someone was arguing with the operator on the phone in the hall.

He knew what he would find in the apartment but he kept climbing the stairs. He reached the door and pushed it open. It swung back heavily on its hinges. He crunched over the splinters littering the floor until the wood turned to glass, until his footsteps became sticky with blood.

Ellis lay against the shattered window. He’d been shot, Sonny assumed. He couldn’t see the wounds beneath all the blood. Sonny knelt down next to him. The blood soaked through to his knees. He reached out and put a hand on Ellis’s chest. It was still.

He jumped at a pull on his arm.

“Sonny. We need to get out of here.”

Tommy practically dragged him from the room. They stumbled down the stairs together, out into the street, where the fresh air hit Sonny full in the face. He gasped, almost doubling over, but Tommy still had a hold of him.

“Sonny? Sonny.” Tommy’s hands were on his face, steadying, desperate. “Sonny, we need to go.”

Sonny felt himself nod, and let himself be dragged away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonny meets Barba.
> 
> A _lot_ of dialogue in this story is lifted straight from the movie. If you like it, it's probably not mine.

It took Sonny two days and more money than he was willing to part with to get to New York. Tommy left him as soon as they arrived, heading back to Staten Island and wishing him luck with a panicked sense of self-preservation Sonny didn’t entirely blame him for. They’d both seen Ellis lying on that floor.

He couldn’t have known their mark was moving money for Gregory Yates, but that didn’t assuage the guilt, and it didn’t stop him from checking over his shoulder as he headed into the city. He wished he could change into something less conspicuous, but he hadn’t gone back to his building that night and had jumped on the train with nothing but the bloodstained clothes on his back and the address Ellis had given him. 

Sonny knew enough about Manhattan to be curious when he’d first looked at the address, but he still stopped short when he reached his destination. He’d expected a bar, or maybe a warehouse, somewhere nondescript but somehow intriguing, the perfect hideout for a notorious con man. He did not expect an indoor merry-go-round.

The building was painted what had probably at one point been a bright yellow color, with faded red and blue signs advertising 25 cent rides and cheap popcorn. The doors were closed shut and everything was quiet except for the lapping of the nearby river. He gave the doors a half-hearted push but they didn’t budge, and it was hard to see anything through the windows he could reach. He cast his eyes around helplessly, as if someone would appear from the air and tell him where to go. A low sound caught his attention, and he walked to the side of the building.

A woman in a threadbare housecoat stood sweeping the steps to the second floor, her dark brown hair falling around her face. She pretended not to notice Sonny as he approached, but he caught the way she positioned herself to watch him out of the corner of her eye.

“Sorry to bother you,” he started, uncertain. “But I’m looking for Rafael Barba. You know him?”

“Never heard of him,” she replied, still sweeping.

Sonny checked the address again. “You sure?”

“Positive. Now if you don’t mind.” She picked up her broom and stepped back down the stairs, pushing past him at the bottom. She fished a ring of keys out of her pocket and headed to a smaller building off to the side of the main.

“Bayard Ellis sent me,” Sonny called out.

She stopped at the door, her back still to him. “Are you Sonny?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so.” She turned to him and smiled, her hard expression melting into something soft and kind. “We didn’t expect you so soon. We heard about Ellis. I’m so sorry.”

Sonny nodded silently. The woman seemed to appreciate his unwillingness to speak and moved the conversation along.

“I’m Olivia. Friends call me Liv.” She picked out a different key and led him to the back door of the merry-go-round. Inside the building was as quiet as it was outside, and there was something unsettling about the unmoving wooden horses staring out at them. Olivia noticed him falling behind, and put a hand on his arm to lead him along. “Rafael is in the back. He might be a little…” She trailed off, running a hand through her hair. “Well, like I said. We weren’t really expecting you so soon.”

Sonny frowned but she didn’t explain any further, guiding him silently down through a dark corridor. She stopped at a door sitting slightly ajar and gave a tight-lipped sigh. Sonny didn’t have to wonder why. The snoring sound from within was practically ratting the walls. Olivia knocked, unnecessarily, and Sonny followed her in.

Surprisingly, the bed was empty. Sonny looked around. It was a small room, filled mostly with scattered papers and discarded clothing, except for the fine looking suits that hung in the half-open wardrobe. There was a bathroom off to the back, but the snoring wasn’t coming from there either. He turned back to Olivia, who gave him an amused look and nodded towards the bed. He stepped forward and craned his neck, and found Rafael Barba, the supposed great con man, curled up between the bed and the wall, surrounded by enough empty whiskey bottles that Sonny was surprised he was still alive enough to snore.

“Seriously?”

Olivia shrugged. “Like I said—”

“Right, right. He wasn’t expecting me.” He kicked at one of the empty bottles. “This is the guy Ellis wanted me to pair up with? The guy who’s supposed to teach me everything he knows?”

“Yes,” Olivia said firmly, all trace of amusement gone from her face. “Maybe Ellis thought you’d be good for each other, I don’t know, but I do know that Rafael is the best at what he does. Just give him a chance.”

Sonny gave a disbelieving huff. He looked at Barba, then over his shoulder at the bathroom. He looked back at Olivia. “You think you can help me carry him?”

* * *

Rafael woke to the feeling of cold water pouring down the back of his neck. He’d have flinched if his body was in any fit state to obey him, and while he had to admit the cold was doing an excellent job of clearing his head, it wasn’t exactly a feeling he welcomed. He felt hard ceramic against his back and deduced that he was in the bath with the shower running rather than caught in a freak indoor rainstorm.

“Turn it off.”

“You sober?”

The voice was unfamiliar, and Rafael cracked an eye open. Liv was leaning against the bathroom wall, a typically unimpressed expression on her face. A younger man was crouched on the ground next to her, an unfocused blur of fair hair and blue eyes. Rafael looked up at Liv. “You called for reinforcements?”

A small smile quirked at the side of her mouth. “This is Sonny. Ellis’s kid.”

Sonny reached over and turned the shower off, briefly meeting his eyes with a mix of wariness and distaste.

Rafael swept his soaking wet hair back off his forehead and settled back in the bath. “Nice to meet you kid, you’re a real horse’s ass.”

Liv snorted. “Well, now that you’re acquainted, I’m going to get back to work.” She stopped at the door. “Rafael, as soon as you can stand up straight I need you to check the main gearing. It started rattling yesterday, almost threw a kid on his head.”

Rafael waved her off as he dragged himself out of the tub. He ignored the new kid’s gaze as he picked his way across the floor, moving slowly in a vain attempt to lessen the banging in his skull. He lifted a couple of the whiskey bottles and cringed as they clinked together.

Sonny made a disparaging noise. “Ellis said you could teach me some things. I already know how to drink.”

Rafael gave him a salty look, too hungover to engage in any scathing back and forth. “I was sorry to hear about Ellis.”

“Yeah, well.” Sonny coughed roughly. “He told me you were a big timer. What happened?”

“He told me you had a bad habit of shooting your mouth off,” Rafael snapped, wincing when he turned his head too quickly. Sonny flinched, an apology crossing his face, and Rafael got a brief glimpse of the kid Ellis had told him about, the good, smart kid hidden under layers of exhaustion and anger. He sighed, dropped the whiskey bottles in the trash and dragged himself halfway back to civil. “My partner and I were working a senator out of Brooklyn. He got wise and my partner slipped in and made a deal with him behind my back. They put the Feds on me. I've been trying to keep my head down since then.”

Sonny took in a long breath. He didn’t have to say anything, it was clear he understood the betrayal, that even in the business of lies and half-truths you had to be able to rely on your partner.

“So, what?” Sonny asked, now more curious than accusatory. “Are you out?”

“I wouldn’t know how to be out,” Rafael muttered. “Liv set me up here to lay low for a while. Give me a chance to stay ahead of the Feds while I look for an opportunity that’s worth my time.”

Sonny looked unconvinced and Rafael didn't elaborate on just how long he'd been without opportunities, having no desire to defend his credentials to some street grifter, not with a pounding headache and a layer of soaked clothing. He pulled his undershirt free from his pants where it dripped steadily on the floor. He raised an eyebrow at Sonny, who was still watching him from the bathroom. “As great as your company has been, kid, maybe you want to wait in the round while I take my pants off?”

* * *

Sonny sat on the edge of the merry-go-round, waiting for Barba to finish changing. A little boy with a head full of curls bounced on one of the stationary horses, seemingly unconcerned by Sonny’s presence. It was just another unexpected aspect of a day that was not going quite as he had anticipated.

Barba wasn’t what he’d expected. He thought he’d be meeting someone suave, intelligent, someone who wasn’t unconscious on a weekday afternoon. Still, while he hadn’t made the best first impression, Sonny was inclined to give him a chance. Ellis had admired him, and Sonny trusted Ellis. Plus, he thought with some reluctance, he was completely out of other options.

“Noah, what have I told you?” Barba walked through the door looking a little more put together in a white t-shirt and faded jeans, clutching a toolbox. “If you fall off that thing you’ll crack your head open and die.”

The little boy giggled at his gruff tone. “Can you turn it on?”

“Not yet. Go inside and bother your mother, I’ll be done in ten minutes.” He ruffled Noah’s hair as he ran by, an unexpectedly soft gesture that undercut his harsh manner.

Sonny smiled up at him. “Cute kid. Yours?”

“God, no,” Barba said, sounding appalled at the mere suggestion. “He’s Liv’s, for the most part.” At Sonny’s questioning look he continued. “His mother died when he was a baby. Liv always said she’d look after Noah if anything happened, so she took him in.”

“Olivia seems to make a habit of taking in strays,” Sonny observed lightly. Barba raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t look offended. “Is this is her place?”

“This place and that glorified shed next door she insists on calling a bar. Used to belong to her old partner. He disappeared a few years back, left it all to her.”

Sonny walked around the ridge of the merry-go-round, running a hand along the painted horses. “And all this, it’s legit?”

“Certainly looks that way,” Barba responded cryptically. He dropped the toolbox on the platform and lifted one of the central panels on the round, slipping in and reaching up into the gearing. He moved some things around with all the expertise of a man whose idea of fixing things was to hit them hard enough with a hammer, but he didn’t wince at the clanking noises, which Sonny took as a good sign.

“Ellis said you could teach me the big con.”

Barba didn’t look away from his work but acknowledged him with a thoughtful hum. “Could do. Why, looking to make your fortune off some rich fool? Retire early?”

Sonny leaned in through the space in the paneling and looked up at Barba. “I don’t care about the money. You said you were waiting for an opportunity. I have one. I want to play for Yates.”

Barba’s hands stilled on the gears. “Why?”

“Because I can’t kill him.” Even when Ellis’s blood was fresh on his hands, Sonny knew he wasn’t capable of that. “I can’t – I don't _want_ to kill him, but I do want him to pay.”

Barba looked down at him, searching his face as though he was seeing Sonny clearly for the first time. Sonny shifted under his gaze, but met his eyes defiantly.

“What exactly do you know about Gregory Yates?” Barba asked quietly.

“I know he killed Ellis,” Sonny snapped. Barba simply tilted his head in response, and Sonny clenched his fists in an effort to calm down. “Okay,” he said, taking a slow breath in. “He’s a big-time crime boss, runs a numbers racket out of Chicago, amongst other things. He owns a few banks, and half the politicians from Chicago to New York.”

“More than half, and the ones he couldn’t bring round to his way of thinking didn't last very long.” Barba stepped back out onto the round and replaced the panel with a loud snap. “The guy is ruthless, Sonny, and he’s vindictive. He took out Ellis for a chunk of money that wouldn’t support him for two days. And I know you’ve heard the rumors of what else he gets up to.”

Of course Sonny had heard. It was impossible to live anywhere near Chicago and not hear the stories of missing women, all of them from a bar or a bank or some other establishment controlled by Gregory Yates, all of their disappearances ignored by a corrupt and indifferent police force.

“All the more reason to go after the bastard,” Sonny said, his voice strained. “We take his money, he loses his connections and his reputation. It’ll destroy him.”

Barba took a cloth from the toolbox and slowly and methodically cleaned the oil from his hands. “This isn’t like taking a few coins from some winos on the street, y’know. There’s no outrunning this guy, there’s no talking your way out of it if you’re caught.”

“I won’t get caught.”

“What I’m saying is that if you really want to con him he can’t ever know it was you.”

Sonny started to blurt out another defensive reply and then paused, caught by the cocky glint in Barba’s eye. “Wait… you’re going to go for him.”

A slow smirk worked its way across Barba’s face. “Of course. He killed Ellis.” The smirk slipped from his face and he gestured sternly to Sonny. “But I need to know we’re going to go about this smart. I can’t have you coming back midway through the job telling me it’s not enough, because it’s all we’re going to get.”

“It’s enough. I’ll follow your lead, I promise,” Sonny assured him. He broke into a grin, relieved to have some focus, some way of getting payback for Ellis. “Okay, so, what now? We need to get some people together, right?”

“We need to get a lot of people together. First though…” He looked Sonny up and down, frowning.

Sonny looked down at himself and back at Barba. “What?”

“Where did you get that suit?”

* * *

It was dark outside by the time Sonny stumbled through the door of Olivia’s bar, practically dead on his feet. Barba had brought him (under protest) to his barber and tailor, claiming that he refused to work with someone who looked like they should be selling insurance on a street corner. Sonny felt this was unfair considering he’d first found Barba in an undershirt and a heavy coating of whiskey, but then he’d walked out in one of the suits Sonny had seen hanging in his wardrobe, complete with complementary tie and pocket square, and he’d looked so good Sonny didn’t really have a leg to stand on.

He’d spent the afternoon being preened and poked and measured while Barba watched on, and had even had his nails cleaned and filed which he'd never realized was a service people provided for money. Eventually, he had emerged with boxes and bags in hand, still dressed in the pinstripe suit that Barba had ordered him to burn as soon as possible, his hair slicked back, feeling almost uncomfortably clean. Barba had nodded his approval and Sonny had stood a little straighter, then Barba had dropped a key into his hand, telling him that someone called Fin had found him a place to stay and he should drop his stuff there before heading back to the round.

The bar was quiet when he arrived. Barba was right, it was little more than a shack kitted out with some worn red seats and a few beer-stained tables, but it seemed to have a smattering of regular patrons. He nodded to the girl on the bar, a young brunette who gave him a friendly smile, and walked through the staff entrance along the back corridor until he heard hushed voices.

Olivia and Barba were holed up in a small room, sitting at a table with another man and a blonde woman. Barba was idly shuffling a pack of cards, but it seemed like no one was playing. Barba nodded to him as he slipped in but didn’t introduce him. Sonny figured everyone in the room was well aware of who he was by this point. They were all deep in conversation about Yates when he sat down.

“I don’t know what we do with him. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke, and he never plays anything he can’t win.”

“Sports?”

“He likes boxing, but he doesn’t bet and he doesn’t attend the fights.”

“This guy's careful. He’s only seen where he needs to be seen.”

“You seen these guys?” The blonde woman slid a pair of faded photographs over to him.

Sonny blinked with confusion. He realized they must have been looking into Yates before he even suggested the idea of a con, and was thrown by the quick patter of information. The woman raised an expectant eyebrow, so he took a quick glance at the photos. “I- no. Should I have?”

“They’re the guys who killed Ellis. Took out the numbers runner you conned too. Stabbed him right in the eye.”

Sonny unconsciously brought a hand up to his eye. 

“Thank you for the extra color, Rollins,” Barba said, lifting the photographs and gesturing with them across the table. “Fin, keep an eye out for these guys. You too, Sonny,” he said quietly, handing him the photos. “If any of them come after you we’ll have to fold the con.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sonny tucked the photographs into his pocket. He’d be careful, of course, but he didn’t think there was any point in dropping the con on account of a pair of henchmen. Even if they had followed him to New York, he was more than capable of handling himself. He’d already taken precautions at the apartment, wedging a small piece of card in between the door and the wall so he’d know if anyone had broken in, and he'd made sure he had a clear line of sight to the street from the window. No one was going to get the drop on him.

Barba watched him put the photographs away and shook his head, very slightly.

“He plays poker,” Fin said, bringing them back to the topic at hand. “And he cheats. Pretty good at it too.”

Barba shuffled his cards. “He’s not the only one.”

Fin grinned. “He has a game on the 20th Century Limited between Chicago and New York, attracts a lot of high rollers. He's due to travel down soon to check on some investments.”

Olivia placed a hand over Barba’s, stilling his shuffling of the cards. “You’re not going to take him on a poker game,” she said softly. “Too risky.”

“Don’t intend to,” Barba said. “But it’s something we can work with.”

“We should take him on The Rag,” Rollins suggested. “It’s the tightest game we’ve got and it’s not all over the papers yet.”

Fin clicked his tongue. “No good. We’re not going to con stocks to a banker.”

Barba set down the cards. “We use The Wire,” he stated decisively. “Never met a poker player who doesn’t like to beat the ponies.”

Rollins frowned. “It’s a bit out of date isn’t it?”

“That’s why he won’t know it. We’ll hook him on the train and then play him here.”

Fin and Rollins exchanged an uncertain look, but any protest was interrupted by a knock at the door. The girl Sonny had seen working the bar walked over to Olivia and whispered something in her ear. Olivia looked sharply at Sonny, then followed the girl out of the room.

Barba followed them with his eyes, only turning away when Rollins let out a breath.

“Problem?”

Rollins worked her jaw. “I’m just not sure I like this guy right on top of our doorstep. You know his reputation.”

“I have done this before, Rollins. I guarantee he won’t know who we are.” He nodded at Sonny. “Any objections to Sonny being second man?”

Sonny jerked his head up, surprised. Fin and Rollins shrugged their approval.

Olivia opened the door quietly and slipped back in. She went straight to Barba and whispered something to him. Barba scratched at his neck nonchalantly, and she sat back down.

“Looks like we have a plan,” Barba announced. “We’ll get started tomorrow.” He went back to idly shuffling the cards. “Oh,” he said lightly. “Any of you been passing bad money lately?”

Sonny figured that’s what Olivia had been called away for, some irate mark in the bar looking for payback. Fin and Rollins both shook their heads, and Sonny hesitated. He’d given Cassidy counterfeit cash but that was back in Joliet, and there was no way Cassidy had followed him across several states because of a few fake notes. It was far more likely Fin or Rollins were lying, and that was none of his business. He kept his head down and shook it too.

When he glanced up, Barba was looking back at him with something like disappointment.


	3. Chapter 3

The Wire was an old con, old enough that Sonny was only familiar with the basics. It dated back to the early days of telegraphy, when telegraph operators would delay sending the race results to the betting parlors long enough for their partners to make winning bets on races that had already run. The local bunco squads put a stop to that quickly enough, but a good con man could still convince a mark that they had some means of delaying the results.

How it worked was that a group of con men would open a fake betting parlor. They would convince their mark that they had a contact within Western Union who would delay the results being telegraphed long enough for the mark to place a small bet, so he could see they were on the level (so to speak). Due to the threat of investigation they would only have time for one more bet, a big one, but an unfortunate miscommunication would lead to the mark placing his money on the wrong horse. A shame, but a plausible shame.

It was a complex con that required extensive planning and manpower to pull it off. What they had was a couple of weeks and a small group of people who owed Barba a favor and weren’t scared off by the mere mention of Gregory Yates. Sonny would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous.

Barba, on the other hand, was in his element. From the moment he’d launched into planning the job he’d been every bit the charming con man his reputation promised; smooth and assured, managing a hundred different priorities with a light-handed ease. Sonny found himself trailing him around the city just to see him work. Barba wasn’t a natural teacher, he didn’t possess the sincerity, but he liked to talk and Sonny was eager to listen, and the approach seemed to work for the both of them.

He watched as Barba stood in the middle of the rundown old basement he’d decided would be a believably secluded setting for an illegal off-track betting parlor.

“It’s good.” Barba strode slowly around the dust covered floor, then nodded to the guy who owned the place, someone called Murphy with a suspiciously unconvincing Irish accent. “You can get us the equipment we need?”

“Blackboards, ticker machines, tables,” he rattled off. “Everything you need.”

“Perfect.” Barba clapped Murphy on the back and walked with him towards the door. “So, how do you want to work payment? Flat rate or percentage?”

“Who’s the mark?”

“Gregory Yates.”

Murphy snorted, then looked back and forth between Sonny and Barba with increasing incredulity. “Flat rate,” he said finally, with a shake of his head.

Murphy wasn’t the first to express doubt about their chance of success, but Sonny’s stomach twisted all the same. Barba only shrugged and let Rollins walk him out, then turned to Fin and Olivia. “Can I leave it to you to set this place up? Make it look a little less…”

“Derelict?” Fin grinned. “Yeah, we got this.”

“Thank you.” He turned to Sonny. “You’re with me.”

Sonny took a deep breath. They had a train to catch.

* * *

The journey to Chicago was quiet. Initially, Sonny had felt grateful to be out of the city and away from his empty apartment. As the journey went on he’d started to think about the time he’d made the opposite one, still picking blood out from under his fingernails. Barba and Rollins had been preoccupied with going over their plan for the scam and in the silence his nerves had festered, and by the time they were in the station, waiting to board the 20th Century Limited back to New York, he was completely on edge.

He flicked through the newspaper he wasn’t reading, listening to the train announcements as commuters rushed past on their way out of the station. Barba stepped in front of him, casually pacing like an ordinary traveler.

“Relax,” he murmured quietly. “You’ll tear the paper.”

Sonny smiled grimly. His stomach was roiling and his hands were sweating, and every fearful comment he’d ever heard about Yates was rattling around his head.

“Sonny.”

He looked up. Barba was indifferently looking at a spot over his shoulder, but his attention was firmly on him. “You can do this. We have a good plan, and Rollins and I will both be there.”

“I’m fine,” Sonny bit out, embarrassed that his agitation was so obvious. “I got this.”

“Good,” Barba said. “Because he’s here.”

Sonny just about kept his head from whipping round. Barba turned subtly and Sonny stood to follow him, just as three men strolled by.

“Middle one,” Barba said under his breath.

Yates. Sonny tracked him with his eyes. He’d never seen him in person before. He was smaller than he expected, softer looking. Ordinary, not at all like the terrifying villain his reputation made him out to be. It made sense, Sonny thought. It was easier to get away with being a monster if you didn’t look like one.

“He’s not that tough,” he whispered, mostly out of bravado.

Barba gave him an amused sidelong glance. “Neither are we.”

* * *

They boarded the train separately from Rollins, who had her own job to do. They found their cabin quickly and Sonny busied himself with putting away the bags while Barba chatted with the conductor.

“I hear there’s a friendly poker game aboard this train,” Barba said, holding out their tickets. “You know anything about that?”

The conductor sniffed and flipped through his log book. “I might.”

“You think you can get me in on that game?”

“I don’t know, I hear there’s something of a waiting list.”

Barba took a few crisp notes from his wallet and slipped them into the conductor’s front pocket.

“Thank you, sir,” the conductor said cheerfully. “That’ll get you first alternate.”

Sonny bit back a snort at Barba’s irritation, but he handed over another roll of notes anyway. The conductor patted his pocket with satisfaction. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Barba closed the door with a sarcastic wave and dropped into the seat opposite Sonny. Sonny sat back in his chair and let his eyes drift closed, just for a moment, an attempt to calm himself down. When he opened them again Barba had retrieved a pack of cards from his jacket pocket. Sonny raised an eyebrow. The first day he’d met Barba, when they were talking about taking on Yates and everyone was a little on edge, he’d spent the evening unconsciously playing with the cards in his hands. Sonny had pegged it as a nervous habit and this was the first time he’d seen it recur.

Barba either didn’t notice Sonny’s reaction or didn’t acknowledge it. He took the cards out of the pack and riffled them on the table. He cut the deck smoothly, his hands nimble and fast, flipping and shuffling the cards with ease. For a few seconds Sonny was mesmerized. He blinked and looked up, just in time to see Barba watching him from under his eyelashes before he looked away. Sonny held back a laugh. Nerves or not, Barba was showing off.

It was likely just Barba’s way of distracting him, getting him out of his head before he worried himself out of the con completely, but Sonny appreciated it. He rested his head in his hands and watched. Barba cut the deck a few more times, pulling off a card stacking trick with the aces that was too fast for Sonny to figure out even from barely a foot away. Sonny’s nerves eased, and he managed a grin. Barba winked, and promptly dropped the cards all over the table in front of him. Sonny’s heart dropped again, and he suddenly wondered how long Barba had been without a drink.

Barba gathered the cards together quietly. “Cold in here,” he muttered. “Need to warm up the hands a bit.”

Sonny chewed at his lip. “You’re up for this, right?”

Barba snorted. “Coming from the guy I had to practically drag on the train.”

“I just mean you haven’t done it for a while and I…” He trailed off, as the look Barba was giving him clearly meant he didn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. But Sonny had never been blessed with excessive tact, and they only had so much time before the game started. “I know your partner double-crossed you, and that’d shake anyone, but—”

“But?”

“You can’t let it get to you. It’s a risk of the business.”

“Not the way I run my business.” His eyes were still fixed on Sonny’s, and the fierceness of his gaze made him want to look away. His discomfort must have been obvious, because Barba took pity on him and sighed. “Alex wasn’t just a partner. He was my best friend, ever since we were kids. Our families came up from Florida together, our fathers worked in the same factory.” He smiled wistfully. “He taught me my first con, some trick with cups and cards that got us a few pennies from our parents.”

“You conned your parents? Rafael Barba, for shame.”

“Oh, my mother saw what I was doing a mile off,” Barba said fondly. “She just enjoyed the trick.”

Sonny chuckled, softened by the warmth of Barba’s voice. “Were you were always partners, you and Alex?”

Barba shook his head. “It was just something we played at as kids. Alex never wanted to be a grifter. He was good at it, best liar I know as it turned out.” Barba laughed bitterly. “But Alex was terrified of being seen as less than the hero.”

“So what happened?” Sonny prodded gently.

“Nothing, for a long time. I left, he stayed. I didn’t see him again until he turned up at my doorstep last year with a job offer. He’d fallen in with some small time politician, someone who promised he could help him make things better for our old neighborhood. All Alex had to do was help him take down a rival senator. I knew it sounded fishy from the off. I should have been more careful, I shouldn’t have taken so much at his word. But…” Barba trailed off, picking up the deck of cards again. “I always knew Alex would do what he had to in order to succeed. I just never thought he’d step over me to do it.”

They dropped into silence, and Sonny ran a hand through his hair, unusually stuck for words. Ellis had told him once that he had a gift for making people open up, something to do with sad eyes and too much empathy, but it was a gift usually reserved for when he was working up to stealing someone’s wallet. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually.

Barba nodded shortly, brow furrowed, and Sonny knew he hadn’t intended to reveal so much. “Could have been worse, I’m not in prison,” he said wryly. “And yes, to answer your question, I’m ‘up for this’. It’ll take a lot more than Alex Munoz to break me.”

Like a psychotic Chicago mobster with a grudge, Sonny thought absently. Because he felt like he should, he apologized again.

Barba waved off the apology and gave the collected cards another smart shuffle, as if to show that he could. “What about you, Sonny? What’s your story?”

Sonny felt a familiar tension gather in his shoulders and he shrugged past it. “Poor family, too many kids, the usual.”

“No choice but a life of crime?” Barba asked, amused.

Sonny didn’t answer straight away. Things being fair, Barba was owed some insight into his life after giving up enough of his own history, but there was a lot of himself Sonny didn’t want out in the open just yet.

“I wanted to be a priest for a while,” he said, lightly enough that it would seem like an amusing confession for an aspiring con man.

“You too?” There was a weary understanding in Barba’s voice. “Why didn’t you?”

Sonny paused, another half-serious comment on the tip of his tongue. “I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons,” he said instead.

“What are the right reasons?”

“Goodness, charity, devotion to God?” His throat felt dry. “I never really belonged when I was a kid. Even in my family, I was the only boy and I didn’t always get along with my pops and…”

“And?”

Sonny laughed uncomfortably. Barba was good at this too. “And I became an altar boy. I loved it. All that secrecy and ceremony, the old ladies slipping you some coins after a good Mass. I felt special.”

Barba snorted, but it wasn’t derisive, rather the self-deprecating understanding of a fellow Catholic.

“The priest kind of took me under his wing, gave me somewhere to go when I didn’t want to go home. I felt like maybe the church was my place.”

“It wasn’t?” Barba asked quietly.

Sonny had a flash of memory; a young boy, praying for God to forgive who he was, the priest’s disappointment and disgust clear even through the walls of the confessional.

He blinked the memory away. The past was a long time and several hundred crimes ago, and he’d long made his peace with who he was. Barba shifted closer, but Sonny refused to look up. “Anyway. When that didn’t work out I went a little off the rails. Got into some trouble at home. Hopped on a train to somewhere I didn’t know with no money. Tried picking pockets, but turns out I wasn’t very good at it. Ellis picked me up somewhere outside of Chicago. He was pulling his own job, said he couldn’t keep watching my tragic attempts without stepping in. It would be an offense to thievery.”

Barba chuckled. “Sounds like Ellis. How long were you with him?”

“Long enough,” Sonny said, the tremble in his voice now barely audible. “He taught me a lot.”

“He better have. I don’t want you getting caught with your hand in anyone’s pocket tonight.”

Sonny raised an eyebrow, but in truth he appreciated the blunt lack of sympathy. It wasn’t the time to wallow and he needed to focus.

“Are you back on the rails now?”

“As much as I can be.”

Barba regarded him carefully, and for once Sonny didn’t feel like wilting under his gaze. There was something new in Barba’s expression, if not respect then understanding. There was something else too, some kind of inscrutable curiosity that disappeared as soon as Sonny caught it.

A sharp knock on the door made them both jump, and Rollins quirked an eyebrow at them as she slipped in. “Special delivery from Gregory Yates.” She dropped a leather wallet on the table in front of Barba.

“Good work. How’d you get it?”

“Hit him over the head with a billy club and ran.” She rolled her eyes at Barba’s terse glare. “I bumped into him outside the dining car. He was too busy leering at me to notice it was gone.”

Barba grimaced and threw the wallet at Sonny. “This one’s yours. Don’t drop it.”

Sonny threw the wallet in the air and caught it with a flourish. “I’ll do my best.”

Rollins laughed, which made up for Barba’s complete lack of amusement. “You’re up,” she said, nodding to Barba.

He stood from the table and settled against the wall opposite her. “You find out about the cards?”

Rollins pulled two packs from her coat pocket. “He usually plays with a Tally-Ho Fan or a Tally-Ho Circle. I got you one of each. He likes to cold-deck low. Eights or nines.”

Barba gave an approving nod. “You’re good.”

Sonny frowned between them. “Cold deck?”

“Poker really isn’t your game, is it?” Rollins remarked dryly.

“Rigged deck,” Barba clarified, taking the packs off Rollins. He held up one to Sonny. “He swaps them out with the real deck, makes sure he gets a winning hand. A little blunt for my tastes, but everyone has their method.”

He tucked the cards into his pocket and grabbed a gin bottle from his case and took a quick drink. Before Sonny could comment, he emptied half the bottle into the sink. Evidently Sonny’s concern hadn’t been subtle, and Barba turned back to him. “Always drink gin with a mark. He can’t tell if you’re cutting it.”

Sonny huffed a laugh as Barba filled the rest of the bottle with water from the tap. The mix was undetectable.

Barba loosened his tie and pulled it off over his head, running a hand through his hair until it stuck up wildly and pulling his shirt roughly out of his pants.

“How do I look?”

“A mess,” Rollins answered.

“Wonderful.”

* * *

Rafael made his way through the narrow corridors of the train until he reached the card room. He was more than fashionably late and judging from the muffled voices within, it hadn’t gone over well. Rafael smiled to himself. After his performance, and it would be a damn good one, they’d be cursing the fact that he’d shown up at all.

He took a deep breath, wrapped his hand tighter around his gin bottle, and threw open the door hard enough to make it slam. “Sorry I’m late fellas, I was taking a crap.”

The assembled players looked up with restrained upper class shock. Rafael stumbled over to the card table, taking a careless swig from the bottle and spilling half of it down his arm. He held out his hand to the man closest to him who shook it with distaste before pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his palm.

“Name’s Barth,” Rafael announced, an old alias he hadn’t used in years. He fell into a chair at the table with a bright grin that no one returned. “Any of you want to make a little book in New York,” he stage whispered, thumbing to himself, “I’m the guy to talk to.”

The other players turned away awkwardly. The table had been set up for the poker game, neat piles of chips in front of every seat but his own. Four of the faces at the table were unfamiliar to him, but Rollins had gotten details on them, either powerful businessman or low level politicians with shady reputations.

The one familiar face (aside from the conductor, serving as dealer) was Gregory Yates, sitting at the head of the table, his expression carefully blank. The conductor glanced at him, waiting for his nod before introducing the players at the table. Yates was the last to be introduced. He stretched across the table and took Rafael’s hand with a feather light grip.

“Thank you for joining us, Mr Barth,” he said with a flat tone. “I apologize that you weren’t informed, but we require gentlemen to wear a tie at this table. If you don’t have one we can get you one.”

“That’d be real nice of you,” Rafael answered, a trifle too loud. “Thanks, Bates.”

Yates’s mouth twitched into a tight smirk but he ignored the incorrect name, nodding to his lackey who ran off to fetch Rafael his tie. He turned to the conductor and whispered an instruction.

Rafael half listened as the conductor launched into his spiel on the rules of straight poker and the minimum bet. He made a show of reaching for his wallet to purchase his chips and was told, as he expected, that as it was a gentleman’s game it was assumed he was good for his money. As soon as he’d run through the rules and passed Rafael his chips the conductor dealt out the cards. Rafael reached for his, heart stuttering when he noticed a slight tremor in his hand. He quickly pulled it back under the table and closed it into a fist. An image came to his mind, unbidden, of Sonny jumping on to a train with his friend's blood still on his hands. The shaking stilled, and he rested his hand back on the table.

“Let’s get started.”

* * *

Rafael threw his cards down with a whoop. “Looks like I win again!” He gathered the chips towards him, adding to the large pile that had accumulated over the last hour. The guy next to him, some high flier out of Pittsburgh, grumbled under his breath. Rafael gave him a hard nudge. “Don’t worry, friend. They wouldn’t let you at the table if you weren’t a chump.” He dissolved into obnoxious laughter as the man shoved him away.

“Mr Yates, I apologize, but I am going to have to excuse myself,” the man said haughtily. “Seems the company is not up to the standards of your usual games.” With that, he stood and made his way to the back of the cabin, a gesture that was somewhat diluted by the fact that the back of the cabin was at most four steps away from the table.

The other players grumbled sympathetically and Yates held up a hand. “How about we all take a break and reconvene in five minutes.” He smiled thinly at Rafael. “Seems tempers might be getting a little frayed.”

Rafael smiled back with a wink, but he was uneasy. He’d been so unbearable that he was starting to get sick of himself, and he’d taken enough money off Yates that saying the figure out loud would be impolite, and yet Yates had remained frustratingly impassive. Every so often Rafael would catch a twisted glint in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. He needed to do something to force Yates to switch the decks, but he was starting to run out of ways to be an asshole.

The other players stepped away from the table, leaving Rafael alone with Yates. He took a gulp of watered down gin. It was getting to the point where he couldn’t taste the gin and he briefly considered downing the whole bottle, but he didn’t like the idea of appearing three sheets to the wind while still winning several hands of poker. He screwed the lid back on the bottle instead, wiping any drops away with the cheap tie he’d been given. He was very aware that Yates was watching him, and he gestured towards him with the bottle.

“Want a sip?” Rafael asked with a sly grin. “Can't make you play any worse, right?” He laughed loudly, pushing the bottle clumsily across the table.

Yates pushed the bottle back towards him. “I prefer to be sober for my games, Mr Barth.” He tapped a chip lightly against the table, and Rafael could swear he saw that glint in his eyes again. “In fact, if you’ll excuse me, I think I should take some air.” He stood from the table and shot a look at his lackey over Rafael’s head before stepping away from the table.

“Hey, Gates,” he called out over his shoulder. “Take as much time as you need.” He gave him a smug wink. “I’ll go easy on you for the first hand, okay?”

Yates wagged a finger at him and laughed as though they were good buddies, teasing each other over a friendly game. He and his man headed out the door, and Rafael noticed it shut with more force than was strictly necessary. He let out a breath.

He spun his chips and ignored the glares of the other players until Yates returned. He walked calmly to the table, a mask of bland courteousness firmly in place. “My apologies for leaving,” he announced politely. “Shall we continue?” He urged the other players back to the table with a wave of his arm. Only Rafael’s friend stayed behind, sullenly sipping at a whiskey.

“Let’s get this gravy train a-movin’!” Rafael slurred, lifting the bottle to Yates. “Long as you’re ready, Waites.”

“Yates,” Yates finally corrected him, reaching over and forcing the bottle back down on the table. “My name is Yates, Mr Barth.”

There was a dangerous undercurrent to his outwardly calm tone, and while Rafael was pleased to see his edges visibly fray, he was smart enough to know when to back off. “Sure, sure. Yates,” he echoed, deliberately over pronouncing the name. “Let’s play.”

The conductor set the pack in front of Yates before he turned to the chips, scratching some figures on the notepad in front of him. Yates reached forward and gave the deck a quick shuffle, keeping the cards hidden behind his hands, before placing it back on the table and folding his hands into his lap.

_He likes to cold deck low._

Rafael pretended not to notice.

The cards were dealt out and Rafael slid his towards him, keeping his hand close to his chest. He glanced surreptitiously down at them. A six, a jack, and three threes.

“Five hundred,” he said, pushing his chips forward.

Yates wasted no time in raising a thousand. He barely even looked at his cards.

The two other players folded and left the table. Rafael called.

He asked for two more cards, Yates for three. The cards slid across the table. Rafael glanced down at his. A seven, and another three. Four of a kind. He risked a glance at Yates. He was staring directly at him, a smug look of expectation on his eyes.

Rafael kept his expression neutral, carelessly splashing the pot. “Five hundred.” He reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

“Five hundred,” Yates repeated, counting out several more chips. “And a thousand.”

There was a low murmur from the watching players. They started to edge closer to the table.

“Your one thousand, and I raise you two thousand.” Rafael pulled a book of matches from his pocket and palmed it in his hand.

Yates expression twitched. “Your two thousand.” He leaned over to the conductor. “Give me ten thousand dollars more.”

The conductor hesitated. It was a breach of the rules for a table stakes game, but he was hardly in a position to argue etiquette with a man like Yates. He handed the additional chips to Yates, who slid them into the pot.

Rafael examined his cards again, keeping them close up against his shirt, away from the eyes of the other players behind him, who were leaning forward with interest. “I’ll call.”

Yates broke into his first genuine smile of the night and turned his cards over. “Four nines.”

_Nice job, Rollins_

Rafael shook his head, let the moment settle. He placed his cards down firmly on the table. “Four Jacks,” he announced triumphantly.

Everyone started forward.

Rafael grinned. “You owe me 15 grand, pal.”

A heavy silence settled around the cabin. Everyone was staring at Yates, sitting silent and still, a rage building behind his eyes that he either couldn’t hide anymore or no longer cared to. He reached into his pocket, and Rafael tensed. His gaze wavered, and he patted his other pocket.

“I seem to have left my wallet in my room,” he said, voice tight with effort.

Rafael rounded on him quickly. “Don’t give me that! When you come to a game like this you bring your money!” He waved his own wallet aggressively to make the point. “How do I know you’re not trying to con me?”

There was a beat of shocked silence, and then Yates was out of his seat, snarling. “How dare you accuse me?! Do you know who I am?”

Rafael jumped out of his own seat and squared up to him, but was immediately pulled away by someone while another player got in between them and pushed Yates back.

Rafael shook off the grip with disdain, getting as close into Yates’s face as he could. “Okay, how about this. I’ll send a boy round to your room in five minutes to collect the money. You better deliver, or I’ll get word all round Chicago that you welshed.” He turned to the conductor. “Cash me out for the rest of these.”

* * *

Money in hand, Rafael stalked out of the cabin, leaving Yates to pull himself together behind him. He moved quickly through the train and back to his own cabin where Sonny was waiting, drumming a nervous rhythm on the table.

“How’d it go?” 

Rafael grinned, high on the buzz of victory. “They say never cheat a cheater, but that’s not true,” he said, dropping the four threes on the table in front of Sonny. “Just make sure you can cheat better.”

Sonny lifted the cards and laughed. “So how mad is he?”

“Fuming,” Rafael said with pleasure. “Be careful though, he doesn’t show it. Not until you take 15 thousand dollars from under his nose.”

Sonny blinked, hard, and Rafael took his smugness down a notch. “Just do what we planned, okay?”

“Yeah,” Sonny murmured. “Wish me luck.”

“You won’t need it,” Rafael assured him, ushering him out the door. He shut it with a click and rested back against the wall. He was confident in Sonny’s abilities, nervous as he was. The kid was a natural, and not arrogant enough to know it. But Yates was a wildcard, and Sonny was angry. Rafael closed his eyes, and he waited.

* * *

Sonny could hear the raised voices all the way down the train. As he got closer to Yates’s room he was able to make out what they were shouting.

“Greg, I know I gave him four threes! He must have made a switch.”

“So what am I supposed to do, come after him for cheating better than me?”

Sonny suppressed a smirk and stepped up to the guard standing outside the door. “Barth sent me.” The guard gave him a bored once over and opened the door. He grunted something by way of introduction and shoved Sonny forward, putting him face to face with Yates.

Revulsion and anger immediately rose up in his throat and his hands twitched, itching to punch and claw, but he forced the impulse down, because he owed it to Barba to be a professional and getting them all killed wouldn’t make Ellis any less dead. He held out his hand and was pleased that it didn’t shake.

Yates raked his eyes down his body, deliberately ignoring the proffered hand. “Your boss is quite the card player. How does he do it?”

Sonny smirked. “He cheats,” he said simply.

Yates raised an eyebrow at the unexpected honesty and sat down with his arms folded.  “Well, in that case, I’ll keep my money.”

“You don’t have any to keep.” Sonny pulled Yates’s empty wallet from his jacket and dropped it casually in front of him. “Here’s your wallet. He hired a dame to take it from you. He’s been planning to beat your game for months, he’s just been waiting for you to cheat him so he could clip you.”

He expected Yates to shout, to surge forward and throw him against the wall, threatening him for daring to suggest that he’d been conned by some halfwit bookie from New York. Instead, Yates laughed quietly.  “So that was his game.” He laughed again, harder, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “Your boss is quite the fellow. All that effort to push me into cheating him, when I’d decided to do it the moment he walked into my game without a tie.” He stood and leaned in close to his partner as he passed. “Carl, get this kid out of here, put one in his ear and dump him in the first tunnel we hit. We’ll get the other one on the way out.”

Carl, a nervous looking man looking more nervous by the minute, pulled on his arm. “Greg, come on. We’ll be at the station in five minutes.”

Yates slapped his hand away, all traces of laughter gone from his face, and Sonny had visions of him being shot right there in the compartment. “Wouldn’t look so good you killing a man you owe money to,” he said quickly.

Carl seemed to agree, carefully placing a hand back on Yates’s arm. Sonny’s heart thumped wildly in his chest, and his eyes kept flicking to the cabin door.

“What’s your name?”

Sonny almost jumped at the question. “Smith,” he said, watching Yates carefully. “My name is Smith.”

“Mr Smith. Let me tell you a story. Recently I lost some money to a pair of grifters back home.”

Sonny felt his knees go weak.

“Pocket change to me,” Yates continued, “but I sent my men to find out who they were and kill them anyway. Do you know why?”

“To send a message,” Sonny replied hoarsely.

“Correct,” Yates said with a smile. “Because if I let it be known that I can lose to some small time trickster, I appear weak.” His smile dropped frighteningly quickly, and he took a sharp step into Sonny’s space. “So please be assured, Mr Smith, I don’t give a damn how it looks to kill you or your boss.”

“Barth has connections too,” Sonny said, quick and breathless. “You’ll only be making trouble for yourself that you don’t need. I have a way to take him down clean.”

Yates cocked his head with amusement. “Do you now.”

“I’ve been planning it for a long time. Trust me, I’m taking a huge risk even telling you this.” He shook his head helplessly. “Look, I’ve been honest with you so far, haven’t I?”

Yates seemed to consider this. He turned to Carl, who gave him a staccato nod. “Perhaps you have. The train is pulling into the station in five minutes. Stick around and I’ll drive you home.”

Sonny hesitated. This had been a possibility, but one he was hoping wouldn’t happen. “Barth’s expecting me,” he tried.

“I’ll drive you home,” Yates repeated. His eyes narrowed slightly and Sonny knew better than to argue further.

“Great. Thanks.”

He saw Barba watching him from the window as he left the station, caught between Yates and his two henchmen. Barba nodded reassuringly and warmth immediately flooded his chest, a confidence that surprised him with its suddenness. There was a car waiting for them, big and flashy, but Sonny still felt claustrophobic inside it, too close to Yates, their arms brushing every time the car took a turn.

They’d been driving for what felt like hours before Yates spoke up. “So,” Yates asked, his voice soft. “What makes you think you can take Barth?”

Barba had given Sonny the hook, gone over it with him until it was practiced enough to sound spontaneous, and vague enough to be enticing. “I’ve been planning to take him down for two years. I know his organization backwards and forwards. I keep his books, I know exactly how much he can stand to lose, and what will push him over the edge. All I need is someone to put a bet down for me in Barth’s place. That’s all. I’ll do the rest.”

Yates hummed, looking straight ahead with disinterest. “And why me?”

“I need a backer. Someone who can get money fast, no questions asked. You’re a banker, it’s ideal.”

“I hope you’re not implying I’m a fraudster, Mr Smith—“

“Of course not. You’re a businessman,” Sonny cut in quickly. “What I'm presenting is a business deal. You put up some cash, we both make a profit, and we both get to see Barth go down.”

Yates shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You seem like a smart lad, Smith. Seems like Barth has taught you a lot. Why would you want to take him down?”

“Because I’m smarter than he is and I’m sick of being treated like the errand boy.”

Yates’s smile dropped, and he looked out the window at the trickling rain, a distant expression on his face. “It does rankle, not to be appreciated when you have so much to offer.” He blinked and came back to himself. “I admire ambition, but this may not be my game.”

Sonny shrugged. “I understand,” he said casually. “How about we meet at Klein’s drugstore tomorrow, 1pm. You can see what I have to offer and decide whether or not it’s your game then.”

With a perfect sense of timing, the car rolled to a stop at the address Sonny had given, a short walk away from his actual apartment building. Yates reached past Sonny and opened the door. “If I’m not there by a quarter past I’m not coming.”

Sonny nodded and climbed past a stony faced Carl into the cool night air. He closed the door and backed away, letting out a long breath as the car drove off. His whole body shivered. He shoved his hands in his pockets and jogged down the street towards his building. He was grateful to get inside and out of the cold, and loitered for a few minutes in the doorway trying to warm up enough for the shaking to stop.

He realized he would have to update Barba, and it was probably best to do it straight away considering that last time Barba saw him he was getting in a car with an angry multiple murderer. He hopped up the stairs to drop his bag in his room, and almost tripped over his feet when he reached the landing. The small piece of card he’d placed in the doorway that morning lay in the middle of the floor. He didn’t stop to investigate further. He bolted back down the stairs and out the door, ducking as something cracked against the plaster next to his head. Dimly, he recognized it must be a gunshot, and he threw himself out into the night air, searching wildly for somewhere to hide. He managed to dive behind some trash cans just as two men exited the building, and tried to quiet his gasping breaths.

He risked a glance over the top of the trash cans. It was dark, but the men stopped under a streetlight, and Sonny remembered the pictures Rollins had shown him, the ones he’d left in his old jacket pocket. The hitmen Yates had sent had tracked him down. They looked around the street, then broke off into opposite directions. They would clear the street and meet again in the middle, and then Sonny would have nowhere to hide. He looked desperately around, but any possible escape route seemed to lead to a dead end. He was about to risk a run into a nearby alley and hope he could climb a wall or a fire escape when he heard the noise of a truck approaching.

He took another look around the street. Both men were lost in the shadows. The truck moved closer and Sonny scrambled forward. He heard footsteps coming from somewhere to his right so he leapt, caught on to the side of the truck and pulled himself close. He held on by his fingertips, unseen, until the truck drove into the next street and he dropped back onto the road, pushing himself up and running straight to the betting parlor without looking back.

Barba was at the bar twirling a drink in his hands when Sonny burst through the door. “Hey!” Relief was etched on his face and at any other time Sonny probably would have appreciated the concern. “How’d it go?”

“Yeah, great, good,” Sonny replied, trying to sound like he hadn’t just run a marathon. He ignored Barba’s frown and grabbed himself a drink.

“No, please, spare me the details,” Barba said dryly.

“He might be open to a meeting. We’ll see.” Sonny downed the burning gulp of whiskey in one. Barba’s frown grew. “He threatened to kill me,” Sonny rasped.

Barba chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders. “Hell, Sonny. If they don’t do that you haven’t done your job.” He got up stiffly from his chair, like he’d been sitting in the same position for hours. “Good work tonight. Get yourself another drink, you’ve earned it.”

Sonny nodded. He’d already been reaching for the bottle. He poured another measure and brought it to his lips, pausing when he noticed how much his hands were shaking. “Hey, Barba?”

“Yeah?”

He looked exhausted, Sonny noticed. He’d been awake the better part of two days, planning and executing a con that was just starting to take off.

 _If any of them come after you we’ll have to_ _fold the con._

Sonny shook his head. “Nothing. Just… crazy day.”

He’d gotten away. They’d found his apartment, but he could find a new one. Manhattan was a big place, if he didn’t tell anyone where he’d moved to there would be no way for them to track him down. The con would be over in a week anyway. He could handle a week.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be done by the deadline, she says with all the confidence of someone who hasn't finished the last chapter.

Sonny sat in a booth in the drugstore, pulling at the uncomfortably tight bow tie Barba had insisted he wear. He checked the clock. Yates was late.

He ran over everything they'd talked about in the car. Had his hook been too vague? Had he been too nervous and Yates had smelled a rat? He’d said it might not be his game, it could just be that he wasn't interested. Sonny wondered how he’d tell Barba that Yates hadn’t shown up. He wondered what would happen to everything that had been set up so far, all the men brought on board and the betting parlor that had been set up. He wondered if Barba would tell him to leave. He wondered if he’d be disappointed.

He wondered when his primary concern had shifted from taking Yates down to living up to Barba’s faith in him.

The clock hit a quarter past. Sonny sighed and got up to leave, just as the door chimed and one of Yates’s bodyguards walked in alone.

“You have five minutes.”

Sonny jumped at the voice behind him, and Yates slipped into the booth, looking at him with dry amusement. He’d likely been close by, waiting and watching Sonny get more and more agitated for nothing more than his own enjoyment. “Well?” Yates indicated Sonny should sit back down. “Get on with it then.”

Sonny shook himself into action. “Okay. Sometime after half past, a man is going to call on that phone and give you the name of a horse. Take this.” He slid a brown envelope across the table. “There’s two grand in there. All you gotta do is take it over to Barth’s betting shop and place it on that horse.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. But you’ve gotta be quick, we only have a few minutes to place the bet after the call comes through.”

Yates turned the envelope around in his hands. “You won’t break him with a two thousand dollar bet.”

“That’s all I have right now,” Sonny said. “It’s just a test, so you know I’m on the level. The big bet comes later. Look, I don’t have much time before Barth notices I’m gone, are you on board or not?”

Yates didn’t respond to Sonny’s urgency, instead leaning back and fixing him with a thoughtful stare. “What’s to stop me just leaving with the money?”

“Because we both know that two grand is nothing to you,” Sonny shot back confidently. “And it doesn’t come with the satisfaction of watching Barth go down.”

Yates didn’t respond, but his mouth quirked up slightly. Sonny stood from the table and nonchalantly brushed at his coat. “Whatever you choose, it’s up to you. I’ll be across the road, waiting.”

Sonny forced himself to walk out of the diner slowly, then quickened his pace once he was out the door. He looked up at the windows of the building opposite the drugstore and nodded to the figure watching him. Fin gave a cocky wave back. Sonny jogged into the alleyway and down the stairs into the betting parlor.

He was still impressed at how well it had all come together. The space was unrecognizable from the empty shell it had been barely a week earlier. Boards showing race announcements and odds lined the walls, there was a bar covered in enough glass to make it look passably fancy, and they’d even managed to place a few plants around the floor. Barba’s touch, he assumed, along with the tuxedos he’d insisted the staff wear. The cloud of smoke gave it a well used feel, and the place was buzzing with people, about 50 at last count, all Barba’s contacts from across New York and beyond, dressed in ill fitting suits to look like average punters.

Rollins passed him with a tray of glasses. “You look like you need a drink.”

Sonny huffed a laugh. “I do. Not yet. Where is he?”

Rollins nodded to the small office at the back. The blinds were shut and it was empty, but there was a door leading off to another smaller room. Sonny gave a sharp knock before going in. Barba was with another man Sonny didn’t recognize, leaning over the ticker machine and going through the tape. He raised his head when Sonny entered.

“Hey. How’d it go?”

Sonny shrugged. “He’s hard to read, caught me on the wrong foot. I think I got him in the end though.”

Barba nodded. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough.”

He turned back to the other man and Sonny fidgeted where he stood, unsure if that was a dismissal or not. “What’s going on?”

Barba turned and blinked at him, but before he could say anything the other man shoved a hand forward. “Randolph J. Dworkin, good to meet you. I’ll be reading the race results for your little con today. Gotta say, I’m impressed by the choice of mark. I’d say you’re either very brave or completely suicidal, but I’ll pay you the compliment and say it’s both.”

Sonny looked at Barba and raised his eyebrow.

“We needed someone who could talk fast,” Barba said dryly. Dworkin gave him a smirk as he turned back to the ticker machine. “He’s looking for a good race to read out,” he explained to Sonny. “Something with the right odds. We don’t want to pay out too much.”

Sonny knew the game, but Barba seemed to enjoy explaining things to him, so he let him.

“Found it,” Dworkin announced, scrolling through a line of tape. “As long as you haven’t screwed the pooch, kid, this should go off without a hitch.”

Both Sonny and Barba opened their mouths to respond, and both immediately decided they couldn’t be bothered. Barba took Sonny by the arm and led him back into the office, closing the door behind him. He left Sonny leaning against the table and picked up the phone.

“Fin. Yeah, Blue Note to win, fourth race at Narragansett.” He placed the phone down. “Won’t be long.”

“Right,” Sonny muttered. He pulled again at his bow tie. Barba huffed and batted his hands away.

“If you keep doing that I’m going to have to lose my temper with you for real.”

Sonny dropped his hands to his side with a wry laugh. Barba stepped closer and reached up to tie the tie tighter, then smoothed down the front of Sonny’s jacket. Sonny took a measure of comfort from the contact, and placed his own hands over Barba’s as they brushed at his jacket. “Thanks,” he murmured.

Barba’s eyes flicked up to his and Sonny was surprised to see uncertainty there. He wondered if it was his own nerves rubbing off on him, and felt guilty that he’d affected the usually unflappable Barba. He opened his mouth to say something reassuring when the buzzer on the desk went off, causing them both to jump.

Barba pulled his hands away and took a step back. “That’s Fin. Yates is on his way.” He straightened his own tie and brushed his hands on the sides of his pants. “Go on, get out on the floor, he needs to see you working.”

Sonny flashed him what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he left. Barba dropped heavily against the desk.

Sonny grabbed himself an ashtray and was looking busy emptying it when Yates arrived, his two bodyguards following close behind. They’d have to do something about them before the final bet, Sonny thought. Their presence would complicate things. Yates gave Sonny a nod as he joined the line to make his bet.

The door to the office opened and Barba waltzed out with Barth’s overconfident ease. Sonny really had to give him credit. When he was on, it was like watching a different person. He greeted Yates with a sardonically raised eyebrow. “Hey, Craig, right? Thought you’d get tired of losing.” He smirked at Yates’s icy stare and turned to the cashier. “Make sure you see the cash first. This fella has a habit of making bets he can’t afford.”

He strolled back towards the bar and settled next to Rollins, who offered Yates a sarcastic wave and a wink. His lip curled in recognition and Barba chuckled as the race commentary crackled in over the radio.

_“The flag is up, and they're off and running. It's Wits' End going to the front, Vote Boy, Chancing, and Blue Note trails the field. Around the clubhouse turn, Chancing a half, Lady Mojo by one, followed by Vote Boy, Dancing Cloud… Into the second turn, Lady Mojo driving, then Wits' End, Dancing Cloud, Lady Mojo a half, Vote Boy by one.”_

Sonny crossed to Yates’s table and picked up the ashtray to empty. “Great tip you fed me," Yates muttered.

“Give it some time,” Sonny cautioned.

Yates grunted.

_“Chancing is shortening stride, they're head to head. It's Lady Mojo, Blue Note, Lady Mojo,  Blue Note. And Blue Note wins it by a nose!”_

There were jeers of disbelief from the crowd and a litter of paper was thrown in the air as betting slips were torn up. In the middle of the clamor Yates sat quietly, a pleased little smile on his face. His gaze shifted to Barba as he stood to collect his winnings.

Barba still leaned against the bar, but the set of his shoulders was stiff. He scowled as he watched the cashier deal out Yates’s winnings. “They belong to you?” He called out, nodding to Yates’s men.

“They’re in my employ,” Yates replied with a haughty sniff.

“Well, I don’t like the look of them.” He clicked his fingers at Sonny. “Kid. Bounce ’em.”

“But Mr Barth—" Sonny stuttered, stepping back when Barba turned on him.

“Don’t you ever answer back to me,” Barba fumed. “Get them the hell out of here before I kick you out on your ass too.”

Sonny threw Yates an apologetic look and started towards the chairs. Yates stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Yates murmured. “We’re leaving anyway.” He slipped a card into Sonny’s hand, just out of Barba’s sight. “This is where I’m staying. Drop by tomorrow morning at breakfast, we’ll talk more.”

He took his hand away, though Sonny could still feel the crawling prickle of his grip. A man was posted by the door and watched Yates leave, nodding to Barba once he was up the steps and out of sight.

“Okay, that’s it everyone,” Barba called out. “Good job.”

A cheer went round the room as everyone congratulated themselves on getting through the first stage. The bet was won, all they had to do now was convince him to come back for another one. Sonny walked over to the bar. Barba had already poured him a drink.

“You okay?” Barba asked softly.

“I really hate that guy.”

Barba snorted. “You and me both. Don’t worry. We’ll be done with him soon.”

* * *

It was easy for Barba to shrug off spending time with Yates, Sonny thought as he stepped off the hotel elevator. He wasn’t the one who had to buddy up to him.

Yates seemed to have taken over the entire top floor of the hotel, with a guard posted at every door. Sonny smiled uncomfortably at them as he passed. The only one he recognized was outside Yates’s room, and he nodded stiffly to Sonny as he let him in.

Yates was sitting alone at a table, an extravagant amount of food in front of him that he had no possibility or intent of finishing.

Sonny made himself smile at him. “Told you it’d work.”

Yates gestured dismissively with his bread knife. “You got lucky once, what’s to say you can do that again?”

Sonny adopted a casual air, throwing himself into one of the soft felt armchairs, making himself look at home. “Lucky nothing, I can do that every time.”

“What’s your system?”

“It’s not a system.” Sonny made a show of leaning in closer, despite being a few feet away from Yates in the enormous and practically empty room. “You going to stay in?”

Yates sipped his coffee. “Not until I know what I’m getting myself into.”

Sonny looked over his shoulder as if someone might be watching. “I have a partner downtown, and he runs the central office of the Western Union. Race results from all over the country come in there and go right across his desk to the bookies. All he does is hold them up for a couple of minutes until he can call us, get a bet down on the winner. Then he releases the results to the bookies, we clean up on a race that’s already been run. We can’t lose. Not unless the Western Union dicks get wind of it.” He smiled conspiratorily at Yates. "You've seen how well it works, so next time we make a bigger bet. Enough to clear Barth out once and for all."

“That would be a substantial amount. You’re asking me to put a lot of faith into this man of yours.”

“He hasn’t let me down so far.”

“That’s as may be, but I don’t know the man.” Yates chewed carefully at a slice of bacon. “I want to meet him.”

Sonny shook his head. “He’s too careful, he won’t like being seen with you. No offense.”

Yates smirked. “He’ll have to make an exception for me.”

“We don’t have time for that,” Sonny said, aware that he was starting to sound desperate. They didn’t have the funds to keep the operation running for long, and any con who could have stepped in as Sonny’s contact had already been seen in the betting parlor. “Look, every day we run the risk of being shut down. Things need to move quickly.”

Yates continued to poke at his food, not looking at Sonny.

“I… fine. Fine, I’ll set something up. But we have to make the bet straight after. As soon as possible.”

Yates speared a tomato with his fork. “We’ll see.”

Sonny hurried out of the hotel, intent on finding the nearest payphone. He ended up squeezed into a telephone box at the back of some fancy bar, breathlessly relating the conversation to Barba. Barba sighed, but he didn’t seem entirely surprised that Yates had asked to meet Sonny’s partner. Time and money was too tight for them to set someone up in a fake telegraph office though, so Fin would have to pull something off on the fly. It wasn't ideal, but it was doable. Sonny hung up and took a moment to catch his breath. Distracted, he didn’t sense anyone behind him until a fist slammed his face into the glass of the telephone box.

Sonny stumbled out into the bar, various horrified patrons jumping out of his way. “Cassidy!” he said, bright and indistinct as he clutched his jaw. “Fancy seeing you here. Taking in the sights of the city?”

Cassidy wiped his hand on his jacket. “Not exactly. You know, when your friend was found in a pool of his own blood I just assumed it wouldn’t be long before we picked you out of the river. But then I heard some rumors that old Ellis was thinking of farming you out to a friend of his right here in Manhattan. Figured if I asked around at enough seedy bars someone would give me a lead on where you were. Guess my information was good.”

So he had been at Liv’s that night. No wonder Barba hadn’t look thrilled. Someone spreading Sonny’s name around Manhattan while they were in the middle of a con wasn’t ideal.

“Don’t blame me for your drinking problem,” Sonny cracked.

Cassidy grabbed him by the collar. “That’s real smart, Sonny. You know what’s not so smart? Trying to palm me off with counterfeit cash.” He dragged him tripping out into the street. “You really fucked things up for me back home.”

“Then come talk to me about it when we’re back home, in a city where you’re actually a cop,” he bit out, squinting into the sunlight.

Cassidy swung him backwards, the side of Sonny’s face connecting hard against the coarse brick. “You really think jurisdiction is going to be a problem for me, Sonny?” He pulled his coat back, and Sonny got a glimpse of the gun tucked into his belt. “I got friends everywhere, kid.”

Cassidy grabbed him again and turned him around, moving to pull his arms behind him, and Sonny took the opportunity of his momentarily loosened grip and made a break for it. He threw his weight back into Cassidy and ran, heading towards the crowd gathered by the train station at the end of the street. He heard Cassidy curse and the sound of his footsteps picking up speed behind him, but he didn’t look back. He took a sharp right into the station and hopped the barrier, much to the upset of the other commuters. Cassidy shouted his name as he reached the tracks, and Sonny thanked his lucky stars that Cassidy was at least a professional dirty cop and wouldn’t fire off his gun in a packed train station. He glanced down the line before jumping down onto the tracks and running to the other side of the platform, pulling himself up and over the boundary fence just as Cassidy bounded down the steps with his gun drawn. Sonny gave a mock wave and Cassidy started forward, only for a train to come thundering past, blocking him from view. Sonny dropped to the ground and ran, Cassidy still yelling his name over the sound of the train.

* * *

“Why didn’t you say something about Cassidy?”

Barba had been stalking the length of the bar since Sonny had burst through the door, half his face covered in blood from where he’d scored it along the brick.

“I told you,” Sonny said, hissing as Olivia pressed an alcohol swab over the cuts on his face. “I didn’t think he’d follow me across state lines like some sort of crazy person.”

Barba rolled his eyes. “Never underestimate a cop with a grudge.” He stood in front of Sonny where he was perched on top of the bar and fixed him with a stare. “Is there anything else you’re not telling me?”

 _Two hit men were in my apartment last week._ “No.”

Barba shook his head, mouth set in a tight, firm line. “Liv, can you give us a second?”

“He needs those cuts treated.”

“I’ll do it,” Barba said, snatching the cloth from her. She gave him a look that Sonny didn’t understand but made Barba roll his eyes, then left them alone without another word. Barba stepped in between Sonny’s legs and took his chin in his hand, slowly tilting his head up to the light. “He got you good,” he murmured.

Sonny swallowed heavily. His head still felt fuzzy and there was a strange swooping in his chest.

Barba had some hazel in his eyes.

“You should have told me about him.”

“I didn’t want to worry—”

“Bullshit.” Barba cut him off with surprising venom. “Don’t play me like a mark, Sonny. I’ve had enough of that.”

“I don’t—”

“Why’d you move apartments?” Barba asked, his tone indicating he already knew the answer.

“I didn’t…” Sonny stumbled, caught by surprise that Barba knew he’d moved. “I wanted a change,” he finished lamely.

Barba shook his head and pressed the cloth hard against Sonny’s face, making him draw back. “I told you to tell me if you even saw a _hint_ of Yates’s guys. You said you’d follow my lead. I can’t partner up with someone who goes behind my back, Sonny, someone who lies to me.”

“Hey,” Sonny said firmly, reaching up and pulling Barba’s hand away from his face. “Don’t do that. I’m not Alex.”

Barba locked eyes with him for a second, his expression a confused mix of anger and uncertainty that made Sonny’s heart stutter.

“I didn’t want to make you drop the con over something I knew I could handle, that’s all.”

Barba raised his eyebrows, indicating the litany of cuts down the side of Sonny’s face.  “Yes, you’re handling it very well. It’s bad enough Cassidy’s spreading your name all round Manhattan. He pulled a gun on you. What if he’d killed you? What if Yates’s guys had killed you? Where would the job be then?”

“Nobody killed me,” Sonny said gently. He realized belatedly he’d been rubbing circles into Barba’s hand, but he didn’t stop. “I’m fine.”

Barba made a noise in the back of his throat that may have been agreement or scorn, Sonny wasn’t sure. It was loud in the sudden silence of the room. Sonny’s hand was still on Barba’s, his thumb slowly running along his wrist. Sonny could feel his pulse under his touch, and it seemed to quicken, though maybe that was his own. He didn’t realize he was leaning in until the stir of breath on his cheek caused him to pull back. His eyes snapped open. He didn’t remember closing them.

Barba’s hand moved, pulling away from Sonny’s grip and sweeping the swab gently across his cheek. “I want you to tell me if you run into any more trouble,” he said softly. “No more trying to handle this yourself, you come straight to me.”

Sonny nodded hesitantly. Whatever mistake he had almost made, Barba didn’t seem to have noticed, or was at least unaffected. “I’ll keep an eye out,” he said, light but strained. “Don’t worry about me.”

Barba glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not. With the number of people after you, I’m worried one of them will miss and hit me.”


	5. Chapter 5

“You should have shut him down.”

Sonny rolled his eyes. “Fin, if you want to piss off Gregory Yates, be my guest. I didn’t particularly want him to stab me with a butter knife in his hotel room.”

Fin shook his head. “I’m just saying, it would have been a lot easier if he’d placed that bet today. Could’ve been out spending my money instead of this nonsense.” He pulled at his overalls and shifted the paint pot from one hand to another. “Okay, you wait here. Dodds and I will get things set up.”

Mike Dodds had joined them on Olivia’s recommendation. They’d needed someone white and semi-official looking, and apparently he didn’t scare easy, which was a bonus. Fin was less keen to work with him, but Fin seemed pretty averse to working with most people except for Olivia and Rollins, Sonny included.

Sonny watched from his spot across the road as Fin and Dodds walked into the Western Union building. This was Fin’s idea of pulling things off on the fly – convince a branch manager they’d been called in to paint his office, kick him out and stick Dodds in his chair long enough for Yates to drop by and see him working there. It was a plan that relied on the Western Union manager being gullible enough to let them in and incurious enough not to check on them. It was a long shot, but as Fin thought gullible and incurious described most people in management, they might just get away with it.

The car pulled up alongside him at precisely 10 am. Yates stepped out and greeted him with his standard anemic smile. Sonny led him to the back of the Western Union building and knocked once. Dodds yanked open the door, overalls replaced with a smart brown suit.

“I told you to stay away.”

“Come on, Dodds, my contact is here.” He jerked his head towards Yates, who was looking past them and into the office, where he landed on the picture of Dodds and a woman who appeared to be his wife, placed carefully on the desk. “We just need five minutes of your time.”

Dodds looked over his shoulder at Fin, who was balancing on a ladder and painting the walls a particularly hideous shade of green. “I can give you five minutes, but not here. The restaurant next door.” He turned away from Sonny and Yates, grabbed his coat and pressed the intercom on his desk.  “Uh, Jackie, I’m heading out for five minutes. Hold my calls please.” He strode quickly out the door. “Let’s go.”

The three of them hurried over to the restaurant next door. Sonny held open the door and let Yates in ahead of him, pausing to glance back at the Western Union building. He caught Fin leaving the building, paint and overalls in hand. He slipped around the corner right before a man Sonny assumed to be the actual Western Union manager poked his head out the door, a look of complete bewilderment on his face.

* * *

 

Yates sipped his water delicately. “I want to see it one more time.”

Dodds huffed with impatience and leaned across the table. “Like I already told Smith, I can’t do that. This network has been running for months, people are starting to get wise. We have one last shot before we shut things down, and it has to be big. I can’t risk that for another small bet.”

Yates studied Dodds carefully. Dodds didn’t blink. “I can make the risk worth your while.”

“I don’t think you’re hearing me,” Dodds said sharply. “It’s not possible.”

Sonny looked nervously at Yates. “Dodds...”

“I’m sorry, but this is bigger than us. I’m not putting the livelihoods and freedom of my partners on the line just because one guy is a little jumpy.” Dodds turned to Yates, who was watching him with an amused expression. “Mr Yates, I appreciate your interest, but you’re not our only financier. You can step away, it makes no nevermind to me.”

Sonny rubbed his face with his hands. Dodds had played it a little close to the line, but he was good. From what Sonny had picked up, Yates liked a little push back. He was impressed when people weren’t afraid of him.

“Your friend should be careful how he talks to people,” Yates said to Sonny, a cool smile on his face. “Not everyone is as good natured as I am.” He took out his wallet and dropped a few notes on the table for the drinks before getting up. “I may not be your only financier, but I’m willing to bet I can get more money together faster than any of them.” Dodds looked away, and Yates continued. “Give me a day, and I’ll make your bet. Seeing as it’s the last one, I’ll make it half a million dollars. You can tell _that_ to your other financiers.” He smirked at their reactions.

“We’ll be in touch,” Sonny called after him as he walked out the door. He raised an eyebrow at Dodds, who just shook his head.

“Rich people.”

* * *

Sonny and Fin bade farewell to Dodds and returned to the bar to update Barba on what had happened. Sonny let Fin take the lead and hovered by the doorway, hoping to make a quick exit. Things had been strange between him and Barba since that night at the bar. While Barba hadn’t actually said anything, Sonny sometimes caught him looking at him with this mixture of regret and unease that made him want to crawl away and hide. For the past two days that was mostly what he had been doing, except for when he was needed to talk through the plan.

Barba turned away from Fin, his forehead creasing when he saw Sonny practically hanging out of the door.

“Are you sticking around here tonight?” Barba asked.

“Nah,” Sonny said, keeping his voice light. “I should start packing things up back at the apartment. I’ll drop by tomorrow.”

A quick flash of something appeared over Barba’s face, but he hid it quickly and turned back to Fin. “If you want,” he said, sounding mostly indifferent to the idea. “Take it easy tomorrow, get your head clear for the job.”

Sonny was already out the door before he’d finished speaking. “Yeah, sure. Head clear,” he called back. He was really working on that.

* * *

Sonny never made it back to the bar the next day, or to the round. He had intended to, but the closer he got the more reasons he found to dawdle. He spent an inordinate amount of time walking around a grocery store, poking at bags of flour and sugar while the grocer watched him with growing suspicion. He walked out with an apple he’d felt obligated to buy and ended up throwing it to a little boy sitting by the window. No sooner had the boy run off than a car pulled up alongside Sonny with a screech. Cassidy leaned out the window. “Hey, Sonny boy. Need a ride?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Sonny answered. “I’m enjoying the sunshine.” He heard the click before he saw the gun. “Though I suppose it would do me good to rest my legs for a while.”

* * *

 The journey was about as fun as any long car ride with a pissed off armed cop. Sonny spent most of the journey pressed up against the door, heart clenching every time the car hit a bump in the road. Eventually they drew up to an old warehouse by the docks. There were two men outside the main doors, walking back and forth in a way that looked very much like patrolling.

“Where are we?”

Cassidy ignored Sonny’s question, dragging him out of the car and up the steps into the dimly lit warehouse. Inside, a few men in well pressed shirts and suspenders were gathered next to a standing board with a map pinned to it, muttering about sight lines and access points. Cassidy cleared his throat.

A hard faced man with closely cut gray hair turned to face them. He greeted Sonny with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Mr Carisi. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“I seem to be in high demand,” Sonny remarked dryly. “Who are you?”

“Special Agent Ed Tucker, FBI.”

Sonny turned to Cassidy, disbelief written on his face. “You called the Feds on me? Couldn’t handle me by yourself?”

“Actually,” Tucker said, cutting off Cassidy’s snarled reply, “We got in touch with Sergeant Cassidy. His dedication to bringing you to justice is commendable, but it ran the risk of disrupting our operation.”

”Operation?”

“Catching Rafael Barba.”

“Who?”

Tucker’s smile tightened. “Now, Mr Carisi, think very hard. I’m sure you can recall his face.”

Sonny looked away, feigning disinterest. He noticed the maps on the boards were all of the area near the merry-go-round.

“You know, Sonny, can I call you Sonny?” Tucker continued without waiting for a response. “Your Sergeant Cassidy says you’ve pulled a lot of confidence tricks in his town.”

“Sergeant Cassidy doesn’t know shit,” Sonny snapped. “If you’re trying to scare me it’s not going to work. I know you don’t have anything on me.”

“What about counterfeiting?” Tucker retorted smoothly.

Sonny said nothing. He could practically feel Cassidy’s smirk.

Tucker stepped over to a desk littered with papers and casually pushed a few to the side. “We’ve been after Mr Barba for quite some time now. We got a tip that he’s running a con as we speak. I think you know that, you've certainly been seen at his more common hangouts often enough. All we need is for you to tell us where and when it's all going to go down. We swoop in and lift him, you get to walk away free as a bird.”

“No way,” Sonny said quietly. “I’m not a rat.”

“Think about it,” Tucker said, unperturbed by the dismissal. “Either you turn him in or you spend 20 years in a federal penitentiary. Seems like a simple choice to me.”

Sonny laughed. “20 years? For what? Even if you do manage to put me away I’ll be out on parole before you can blink.”

Tucker grinned, a slow and unnatural expression on his face. “You’re certainly confident. I suppose you have to be, in your line of work. I’m sure you could charm any parole board.” He picked up a file from the desk and leafed through a few pages. “What about Tommy Sullivan? ‘Charming’ isn’t high on his list of attributes, from what I hear.”

Sonny’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“And that wife of his, your sister Bella?” Tucker made an interested noise as he read through the file. “Her name pops up a lot in this too.”

“Leave my sister the hell out of this,” Sonny snapped, genuinely agitated. Tommy was one thing, but he’d never wanted his family to be drawn into these games.

Tucker considered him from under his brows and put the file aside. “I don’t care about them, Sonny,” he said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “But I will take them down without hesitation if it means getting Rafael Barba. Do you understand?”

Sonny looked back at Cassidy, though why he would expect support there he didn’t know. “I...” He shook his head.

Tucker sighed with frustration, and his hand tightened around Sonny’s shoulder. “Listen, I understand that you like him, he’s a charming guy. You wouldn’t be the first kid drawn in by him. But Barba has a giant target on his back. If I don’t get him, someone else will. You help me now, and you don’t get dragged down with him. Your _sister_ doesn’t get dragged down with him.”

Rationally, Tucker had a point. Even without Barba being arrested, he and Sonny were probably done after Yates anyway. At least this way Sonny could take what he had learned and start new, build a reputation instead of wasting years in a jail cell. This way he’d have Cassidy off his back. Sonny closed his eyes. He heard Ellis’s voice in his head, telling him to stop trying to prove to the world that he could handle everything himself. It was a good deal. He had to take it.

“You wait until the mark is played,” Sonny said hoarsely.

Tucker shrugged. “Whatever you want, kid. I don’t give a shit about the mark.”

“As long as I can finish the job, take the mark down…” Sonny took a shaky breath in and held out his hand. “You have a deal, Agent Tucker.”

* * *

Sonny had Cassidy leave him at his apartment, no point in keeping that a secret now. He sped off with a self satisfied smirk, and Sonny debated whether or not to head to Olivia’s before deciding he couldn’t face it and heading down the steps to the nearest bar. He’d ordered his third beer when the bartender settled down in front of him.

“Long day, hon?”

Sonny blew out a breath. “Long month.”

She tilted her head sympathetically “Want to talk about it?”

“Aren’t you working?” She was, but given that there were three people in the bar and he looked to be the only one conscious, things were probably a little slow.

“I can always take a break for a pretty face,” she said with a wink.

Sonny hid a smile behind his beer. She was pretty too; long hair framing an open, friendly face.

“So,” she said, leaning on the bar. “Work or romance? Your troubles,” she clarified when he frowned.

Sonny thought for a second. “Work,” he said. He sighed. It probably wouldn’t do any harm to talk to someone about it, and bartenders were the next best thing to priests in the confessional stakes. He leaned in close. “I’ve been doing this job, it’s been going pretty well. Has some downsides, but I think I’m good at it.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“It’s not. But after tomorrow it’ll all be over.”

“That’s a shame. You can’t speak to the boss, ask him to keep you on?”

Sonny choked on a laugh. “I don’t think that’ll work.” She looked at him curiously and he shook his head. “Maybe if things were different. I don’t know. It’s just best I don’t stick around.” He took a gulp of his beer and immediately regretted it as it mixed with the swirling unease in his stomach. “I keep finding places I want to stay and every time I have to leave, what does that say?”

“It says you haven’t found your place yet.” She laid a hand gently on top of his. “Join the club, sweetheart.” There was a grunt from one of the other patrons and her hand slipped away. “Look, my shift ends in an hour. If you’re still here, maybe we can continue the conversation somewhere else?”

Sonny blinked away the memory of Barba’s hand on his, the feel of his breath on his cheek and the ensuing regret in his eyes.  “What’s your name?”

“Arielle.”

“Sure, Arielle. If I’m still here.”

* * *

Rafael laid out the deck for solitaire for the fifth time that evening. He should have gone to sleep hours ago but Yates was due to make his final bet tomorrow, and he was antsy. It didn’t help that Sonny hadn’t been by yet. He’d been caught up on the events of the day and he knew everything was fine, but he would have liked to have seen him before the job got underway. He lifted the ace of hearts and set it to the side.

“What are you still doing up?” Liv’s voice floated over softly from the doorway.

“Can’t sleep,” he said redundantly, choosing not to elaborate. “What about you?”

“I have a three year old. I’m practically nocturnal.” She gathered the sides of her dressing gown closer to herself and shivered a little. “Been a while since I’ve seen you nervous before a job.”

“Never pulled a job on Gregory Yates before,” he said, placing a ten underneath a Jack. “Just knowing the guy is in the same city sets my teeth on edge.”

“I know the feeling,” she murmured. She’d been trying to stay out of Yates’s sight as much as possible. She’d been doing that a lot since Noah. “That’s all it is?” she probed hesitantly. “Nothing to do with Sonny Carisi?”

Rafael gave her a sharp look that she met with a faint sigh. “I know, we don’t talk about it. But I’m not blind, Rafael. You’ve been gazing at him since the moment he arrived.”

“Liv,” he said, a warning note in his voice.

She relented. “Fine. We’re not talking about it.”

She shivered again and he rolled his eyes, shifting over in this chair slightly to give her room to sit down. She huddled in next to him and picked a card from the deck, slipping it underneath the three of diamonds. “Have you thought about what you want to do when this is done? Not that I’m not thrilled to have you taking up space in my home.”

Rafael cut her another look, but there was no malice in it. “I was planning to take off for a while, just until the heat dies down. What about you?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I was thinking about taking a break, going somewhere with Noah. Coming back and trying to make an honest go of things here.” She pulled at the edges of a stray card. “Have you talked to Sonny? In a professional capacity, I mean,” she added, cutting off his impatient response.

Rafael scratched at the stubble starting to gather on his chin. “I figured he’d go home.” Sonny hadn’t said anything either way, but the look on his face every time he came back from an encounter with Yates coupled with the fact that he’d lied about being followed made things pretty clear. He wanted this to be over. Then there was the other thing, the thing that had Sonny looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than near him, the thing they were both steadfastly refusing to talk about. “He’s really only here to get Yates. Once we do that, there’s no reason for him to stay.”

“Maybe you should ask him,” Liv suggested casually. “You’ve been too long without someone.” Outwardly, she meant a partner, but they both understood the implication. “And you could stop calling in favors every time you need a white guy for a job.”

Rafael snorted. “Good point.”

Liv rested a hand on his. “Talk to him,” she said gently. “He might surprise you.”

* * *

Sonny started awake with an undignified snort. Thankfully, he was alone, having slipped out of the bar after his third beer with a small wave to the disappointed bartender. He’d debated heading to Olivia’s but in the end had fallen into his own bed, far too early and too sober to explain away the churning in his stomach and the tight, tense feeling in his head. He grabbed his watch off the nightstand. He had a few hours before Yates would place his bet, enough time to shower and pack.

He ended up spending half the time just sitting on his bed, staring at the flaking paint and thinking about nothing. The sound of a truck going by woke him out of his trance, and he grabbed his small bag of possessions and left, leaving the door open behind him. He didn’t intend on returning once the job was done.

The day was bright with a chill in the air. He buttoned his coat and pulled the collar up around his face, so focused on keeping his head down that he almost missed the figure leaning against the wall of his building. He squinted into the sunlight as she walked closer. Her pace picked up – she wasn’t hurrying, but she walked with an intent that put Sonny on edge. He put a hand up to block the sun and saw her clearly, dark hair now tied up away from her face, but unmistakably Arielle.

He waved, confused. The bar was close, but it was too early for her to be coming from or leaving work. She didn’t wave back, and Sonny slowed, faltering. She came closer, close enough for him to see her eyes as they flicked away from him and focused on something behind him. Her expression dropped, and she fumbled for something in her bag.

The bang that went off left his ears ringing. There was a shock of red, and Arielle crumpled to the ground in front of him, a look of surprise frozen on her face. A gun clattered from her hand.

Sonny whirled round, caught between running and going from the gun. Another figure jogged towards him, their hand raised.

“Sonny, hey, it’s okay. Mr Barba sent me.”

She brushed past him to kick the gun away. “I didn’t think she’d go for you in the open like this,” she said, pocketing her own gun. “Come on, we should go. People will have heard that shot.”

Blood pooled from under Arielle’s head. Sonny couldn’t look away from it.

“Sonny?” The woman crouched in front of him, putting herself between Sonny and the body. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Sonny blinked the red away, and the woman’s face swam into focus. He’d seen her before, at Olivia’s, back when he’d first arrived in Manhattan.

“Carmen,” he said hoarsely, remembering the name Barba had rattled off as he introduced Sonny to the crowd of people. “Are you... I don’t…” he trailed off, eyes catching on the blood again. “I met her last night. She was nice.”

“She was an assassin,” Carmen said matter of factly. “One of the best. Yates’s people set her up in the bar after you outran those two guys who showed up at your apartment. She killed them and then came after you.” She looked nervously over her shoulder and pulled at Sonny’s arm. “C’mon, I’d really prefer if we could finish this conversation somewhere else.”

Sonny let himself be pulled out of the alley and into a car waiting nearby. “Barba sent you?” he asked, once the car was moving.

“Yes,” Carmen replied patiently. “The night you got back from Chicago. He wanted someone to look out for you, make sure you were okay.” She paused and bit her lip uncertainly. “He’s very fond of you, you know.”

“Oh.” Something about her tone and expression knocked something loose in his chest, a hopeful relief that was immediately replaced with a crawling anxiety. Carmen kept talking, but he wasn’t listening, staring out through the windshield at the road ahead and trying not to think about what lay at the end of it.

* * *

The betting parlor was a jumble of noise and activity by the time they arrived. Olivia was walking the floor, making sure everyone knew what they were doing, and Sonny could see Dworkin through the window of the office, pacing back and forth with a roll of tape in his hands from the ticker machine. He searched through the crowd until he found Barba, hunched tensely against the bar. Olivia nudged him as she passed and nodded to the door. He visibly relaxed when he saw Sonny, only to frown with concern when he saw Carmen standing next to him. Carmen nodded, but Barba pushed his way through the crowd anyway.

“Everything okay?” he asked, a little breathless to Sonny’s ears.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Carmen replied.

“Sonny?”

Sonny nodded. “Eventful morning, but I’m fine. Thanks. For Carmen.”

Barba broke into a relieved smile that made Sonny’s chest hurt. “Taking care of you is a ten person job, you know that?”

Sonny attempted a laugh and turned away, pulling his coat off. He paused with his hands on the coat stand. “Hey, I need to talk to you,” he said, just as Barba asked, “Can I have a word?”

They both laughed, short and awkward, and Sonny was the first one to recover. “I just wanted to say thank you. And I’m sorry. You know I wouldn’t have dragged you into this if it wasn’t for Ellis.”

“You didn’t drag me into anything,” Barba said quietly. “Sonny, I know you want—“

“Rafael.” Liv’s voice cut across the floor. “Fin’s making the call. He won’t be long.”

“Shit,” Barba muttered, before gathering himself. He gave Sonny an ironic wink. “Showtime.”

They split off in opposite directions, Sonny to the bar, Barba to the back of the room. Someone placed a drink in front of him and he took it gratefully, despite the early hour. He took a sip and watched for the door to open.

Yates swept in with his usual confidence, and without his hangers-on. Seemed he had taken Barba’s warning that they were to stay away to heart. He held a briefcase in his hand and made a beeline for the betting kiosk. Sonny turned so that he could hear from his seat.

Yates dropped the suitcase in front of the cashier and opened it with a flourish. “Five hundred thousand dollars to win. Lucky Dan, third race at Riverside.” The cashier stared blankly at him for a few seconds, prompting Yates to ask if there was a problem.

“One moment sir,” the cashier stuttered nervously. He left his desk and made his way to Barba, who was casually reading a paper at the back of the room. Their whispered conversation was quickly picked up by the surrounding gamblers, and a murmur then a hush fell across the floor.

Yates glanced sideways at Sonny, who gave him a reassuring nod just as Barba strode past.

“The hell is going on over here?”

“I want to make a bet, half a million dollars on Lucky Dan in the third race,” Yates said coolly.

Barba took in the suitcase of money and chuckled darkly. “What’s your game, Yates? I can’t lay that off in time. A bet like that could break us.” He shook his head at the cashier and turned to leave.

“It could make you as well,” Yates called after him.

Barba turned, meeting Yates’s stare with a challenging glare of his own. “Odds?” Barba asked the cashier.

“4 to 1.”

“Half a million on a four to one shot. You’re dumber than I thought, Yates.”

“And you’re more of a coward than I thought.”

Barba stepped up to Yates, contempt flashing in his eyes. Yates didn’t back down, only met his gaze with a patronizing tilt of his head. “Take all of it,” Barba ground out, turning on his heel before he could see the triumph break across Yates’s face. He settled against the bar next to Sonny, watching Yates as he slowly handed over his money.

“Here we go,” Barba murmured under his breath. Dworkin’s voice came in over the radio, announcing the third race at Riverside, Kansas City. Yates gave Sonny the nod as he settled into a seat to listen. Sonny nodded back, and on cue, Mike Dodds walked into the room. He looked around, settling on Yates, and dropped into the seat next to him. Sonny grabbed a tray and began collecting the empty glasses, moving closer to the pair as he went.

“Everything good?” Dodds whispered.

“You don’t need to worry,” Yates said blithely, looking over his shoulder at Barba with a smug grin on his lips. “I put it all on Lucky Dan to win.”

“To win?” Dodds hissed. “Place, I said. Place it on Lucky Dan. That horse is going to run second!”

Yates’s face fell remarkably quickly into panic. He was out of his seat like a shot, shoving the other gamblers out of his way to get to the betting kiosk. “There’s been a mistake,” he said, his usually soft voice sharp with fear. “I need my money back.”

“I’m sorry, sir—”

Yates’s unruffled demeanor broke with an audible rattle as he clawed through the bars of the kiosk, grabbing the cashier by the throat and shaking him roughly. “I said give me my money back or I’ll—"

“FBI, nobody try to leave!” The shout rang across the room, stunning everyone into silence. Yates fell back against the wall as Tucker and his goons pushed through the door, Cassidy trailing close behind them. Sonny glanced at Barba. He’d gone very still.

“Hello, Rafael,” Tucker greeted mildly. “Long time no see.” He gave Sonny a cursory sidewards glance. “Good job kid. You can go.”

Sonny didn’t dare look at Barba’s face. He didn’t want to risk faltering at the hurt and betrayal he knew would be written there. He walked away without a backwards glance

He heard Olivia first, a desperate shout in the silence of the room, then the shot. It wasn’t as loud as the one that morning, he thought absently, and wondered when he'd become so familiar with the sound of gunshots. He turned slowly, hand pressed to his chest. The gun in Barba’s hand was still smoking.

He could see Yates and Cassidy looking on in shock. He heard Tucker shout, then another shot. Barba fell back against the bar, blood staining the front of his white shirt. Sonny was vaguely aware of screaming as he fell to the floor, of Tucker shouting to Cassidy to get Yates out, that he couldn’t be seen here, of Yates protesting against Cassidy’s pleas for him to move. Blood trickled from his mouth, and he had a moment to consider how odd that felt before his eyes drifted closed.

The floor shifted next to him under heavy footsteps. Tucker placed a hand on his shoulder and let it rest there.

“Hey, kid,” he said quietly. “It’s okay. He’s gone.”

Sonny cracked an eye open. The place was dead quiet, no sign of Cassidy or Yates. He rolled the blood capsule along his tongue, catching it between his teeth. “You know this stuff tastes like shit?”

Tucker laughed and clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Better than the alternative, kid. Hey, Barba! He’s gone.”

Barba heaved himself off the floor with a laugh, wiping at the red stain on his shirt. “Jesus, Tucker, you don’t kid around. I’d have taken you for a real FBI guy if I didn’t know better.”

A laugh went around the room and Tucker chuckled. “Me? What about the kid? He almost had me convinced he had no idea who I was when Cassidy brought him by. I was worried he was going to faint at the end.”

“I was acting,” Sonny grumbled. “And I thought I asked you to keep Bella’s name out of all that?”

“You were playing it too cocky. I had to shake you up a little.”

Barba interrupted them both with a clap. “Okay everyone, thank you for bearing with us through all the dramatics, but that’s it.” A cheer went up, and Barba grinned. “Great job, folks, go to Liv to collect your share.”

The crowd surged past Sonny, some clapping him on the back and offering their congratulations as they went. He was buoyed by their elation, and let some of the tension of the day start to drop away as he cleaned away the fake blood.

“Feels good, huh?” Barba approached him with a smile.

Sonny thought for a moment. “You’re right. It’s not enough.” Barba’s smiled faltered, and Sonny broke into a laugh. “But it's close.” His laugh took on an edge of hysteria. “I can’t believe that worked. I honestly didn’t think Cassidy would fall for it.”

“Really? You seemed so on board with the whole plan,” Barba joked.

Sonny remembered his outburst when the plan was first put to him. As if the con wasn’t complicated enough, having a fleet of fake FBI guys drag Cassidy into things when Sonny just wanted him out of his way sounded completely insane. “I wasn’t that bad.” He didn't mention that he'd been one step away from turning down Tucker's deal and trying to handle Cassidy himself, right up until he heard Ellis telling him to stop being such an idiot from beyond the grave.

“You walked in here this morning looking like you were headed to your own funeral,” Barba scoffed.

“I may have been a little nervous,” Sonny admitted, playing down the fact he’d spent the whole morning terrified that everything would go wrong and Barba would end up dead because of him.

“Well. I appreciate you going along with it.”

Sonny shrugged. “I said I’d follow your lead.”

Barba smiled, and it was so tender Sonny wondered how he managed not to see it before.

Barba glanced around at the people still celebrating around them. “Look, I wanted to talk to you about something earlier.” He put his hand lightly on Sonny’s arm and guided him to the back office, closing the door behind them with a click. He leaned against the desk and Sonny stayed by the door, watching him curiously.

“I just wanted to say,” Barba started, halting and uncertain. “I just wanted to say, you did a great job here. And I know you want to move on, but—”

“Actually I thought I’d stick around,” Sonny said, too quickly to be casual.

“I— what?”

“Yeah, I mean, with you." He laughed at Barba's increasing confusion. "If that’s okay?”

The laugh seemed to force Barba into recovery and he pulled himself into a self conscious imitation of composure. “Yes. That's... that would be good. Helpful. I have a few jobs coming up. I could use a second man.” He blinked. “If you’re sure.”

Sonny took a step forward. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Barba pushed off the desk and took a step. “Great. There’s a thing in Boston we could take a look at.”

Sonny took another step. “Count me in.”

The room was small and they were close now, standing near enough that they could feel each other breathing. They stared at each other, then Barba moved first, bringing a hesitant hand up to rest on the back of Sonny’s neck.

“Carmen said you were fond of me,” Sonny said softly.

“Did she,” Barba murmured, his fingers curling in the hair at the base of Sonny’s neck. “Does that mean you’re not going to panic this time?”

Sonny brightened and pulled Barba forward by his hips. “Try it and see.”

Barba rolled his eyes but smiled into the kiss, hands pressing closer into his skin as Sonny wrapped his arms around his back and drew him closer.

Breathless, they both pulled away.

“You should go collect your share from Liv,” Barba said quietly. “We need to take the betting parlor down and leave.”

“Right,” Sonny said. He pressed a kiss to Barba’s forehead and grinned when he flushed and ducked his head. “Boston, huh?”

For the first time in a long time, leaving didn’t sound so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who stuck with this increasingly long thing, and if I never have to look up the meanings of 1930s criminal slang again it'll be too soon.


End file.
